or… “Would You Like a Blizzard with That?”
When I woke up on Friday morning, the snow was already coming down. But I had things to do, and I wanted to be able to leave work early, so I got my ass in gear. I was out the door plenty early that I should have been able to leave at 3:30, given a normal full-day’s work and a standard length commute. Of course, I didn’t factor in the need to sweep the snow off my car. I did that, and was quickly… I mean very slowly like crawling… on my way.
The drive the work was uneventful, if ridiculously slow. My 12 minute commute upped itself to 35. But I did get there, and I carefully backed into a space so I’d be able to pull out forwards. I was the second person in. I decided to go chat with the first person who arrived, because I was seriously covered in snow and didn’t really want to sit in my chair until I dried off.
I told him about the evening’s plans. Mike’s company holiday party was that night, and we were supposed to get there at 6:00. He wasn’t sure if he was going to go in to work or just work from home, so I had to be prepared for all eventualities. We started making guesses as to who would be the next person to show up. We were startled to find out who it was!
The day crawled on by. At noontime, a bunch of crazies from the test department went out for lunch. In the blizzard. Crazies. When we got back upstairs from our cafeteria lunch, we stood by the window looking for our cars. I spotted mine, and it was completely devoid of snow! Everyone was jealous.
Mike IMed me and told me that he had, in fact, stayed home. But the weather was crappy, and we had to get to Boston for 6:00, so I should come home soon. I decided I’d leave at 3:00 and make up for it later. (Like today.)
When 3:00 came, I was scribbling some notes to myself so that I wouldn’t forget what I was doing come Monday. Mike IMed me to make sure I was leaving, and told me a sobering piece of information – my cell phone was at home on the coffee table. I am such an idiot! I told him I’d take route 9 home, rather than route 30, because 9 is straighter, so I don’t need to see as well.
I bundled up as best I could, grabbed my Rubbermaid box that my lunch had been in and my water bottle, and prepared myself for the zero visibility blizzard. Am I a moron? Why are you asking that?
My car was, as we saw before, not covered in snow, but that snow had to go somewhere. And “somewhere” was a big snowdrift in front of and over my car’s bumper. I swore a bit, and then realized that the person who was parked behind me had already left, so I would be able to back out through that space. Start the car. Throw the stuff in the passenger seat. Brush off the snow. Back in the car.
I pulled back, got stuck. Pulled forward, got stuck. Back. Forward. Rock, rock, rock, and roll! Back I went, and I carefully went on my way. I rolled through the stop sign in the parking lot, because I didn’t see anyone coming and I knew momentum was key to getting out of the unplowed parking lot alive. When I got to the road, I saw a car coming, and I had to stop. After it passed… doom.
My front tires of my front-wheel-drive Jetta were in the dip between the end of the parking lot driveway and the road. And they weren’t going anywhere. 1-R-1-R-rock-rock-rock-spinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. This is not good. I got out and surveyed the situation. I stomped down the snow in front of the tires, and got back in to try again. No good. Time for the four-ways! I brought out the brush and tried to push snow away from the tires. Several cars went by. I tried again. Still no good. I yelled and swore, and got out again.
I then noticed the door of the white F-150 opening behind me. The driver had a scarf wrapped around as a face mask and gauntlet-like gloves covering his hands. He came up and asked what was wrong. “I’m screwed.” Okay, I didn’t say that, but that’s how I felt. He offered to help me push. That didn’t work. He offered a bump. I heaved a sigh and said we may as well try. After several false starts, we were both on my way. I stuck my hand out my window into the white-cold and gave him a thumbs-up and a wave.
My knight in shining white armor with a blue oval seal reading “Ford.”
I will never know your name.