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23 february 2001
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snow day! With all due respect to our local news organizations...um...where did you find your meteorologists? This has been a slightly unusual winter here in the NC Piedmont, in that it has been consistently cold. We don't mind that so much, but we are used to getting an occasional week of 65 degree temps and unexpected frolic time in the park. This year, however, has just been uncomfortable. Between my consistently chapped hands and lips, I'm keeping the Body Shop Hemp Hand Protector and the Gold Bond lotion people well-employed. Buy your stock now! My knuckles will be cracked for at least another month. For the past three months, one or another of our esteemed weather guys have alternately predicted events of utter meteorological mayhem. So far, we're were supposed to have had at least three good snow and ice dumps smack on our town. Everyone goes nuts, as usual, and ends up at their neighborhood grocery store for two hours while they scavenge the last bread and milk. They rent armfuls of movies. They purchase suburban assault vehicles en masse for that life-threatening commute to Wal-Mart. I guess winter storms cause community-wide cravings for milk, sandwiches, and crappy movies. "Right on, it snowed! Pass the milk! The thing is, none of these weather alerts have panned out for us. We wake up the next morning, hopeful for just a smidgen of the white stuff. We look out our window, and nada. We curse Bad Meteorologist again. The yuppie contingent is stuck with three loaves of bread, a Jeep Cherokee, and six Meg Ryan movies. So this morning rolls around. Even with the blinds closed, it seems unusually bright in my bedroom. Wilma can now reach light switches? I arise to investigate. Wilma is sacked out above my pillow. No lights on. I open the blinds, and see some full-on winter wonderland, only dangerous. Hey, the meteorologists missed this one! Way to go, guys! Now, where are my boots... Winter storms here, unfortunately, are very pretty but also fairly dangerous. We don't get just snow; we get sleet. It sticks to the snow, which is stuck to the road, which creates a nearly impossible situation. People attempt to drive in this anyway, the traffic report on our local Morning Edition is about ten minutes long with all of the wrecks, and I hear countless people spinning their wheels on the hill next to my place. I am skittish to even take the sidewalk, knowing that Joe Truck is going to land on it eventually and take me with him. Here's the real kicker, though. When bad weather is even predicted in our area, schools often announce closings the day before. I think this is pretty smart, frankly, because we live in a climate where snow days are rare, and therefore snow-clearing resources are nearly nonexistent. We're not big salters, scrapers, or sanders. We're wait-for-the-sun-to-come-outers, which it nearly always does within a few short days. Until then, it's good to know that our schoolkids are safe at home. Today was an exception. We were blindsided. Forsyth and Guilford County Schools didn't close. And their parents are none too happy. Most of them just kept their children home anyway. Which was a good thing, especially after the sobering news that was broadcast later today. A school bus slid into a ditch in Guilford County, slightly injuring one kid and probably scaring the socks off of a few others. A Forsyth County high school senior was also badly injured driving to school this morning. Comparatively, I guess I've got it pretty easy, even if I don't have an excuse for missing work. After surviving Chicago winters, I don't suppose I have much choice but to hoof it the six blocks to work now, no matter what the conditions. I make it relatively unscathed, with jolly red cheeks. My walk home is equally uneventful, aside from the squoosh and splatter of passing tanks from Suburbia, navigating their way home. They are oblivious to Kim the Pedestrian. I want to throw sandwiches and milk at their windshield. "Hey, You've Got Mail! *WHACK!*" But then I remember what my mom always told me, you know, don't play with your food. I wish a very bad hair and cheap suit day for Marky Meteorologist this evening. I hope Sports Guy calls Weather Guy a big weenie and gives him a noogie while the camera is running. Giggly and delusional, I kick back, another wait-for-the-sun-to-come-outer. |
