I remember when I was a youth; since both my parents are teachers, I’d drift up from sleep at roughly 5am with the sounds of our radio playing softly at the edges of my consciousness, a monotone voice going through the school closings and delays. It was at this time that I would roll over, peek at the window to see the ground reflected in moonlight, and drift back off to sleep, hoping fervently that I would get to stay home. Sometimes they’d tease me with some delay action, but I knew better. It was usually a guarantee that a delay would lead to a cancellation, and my life of luxury would begin.
Those were the days. I woke up this morning to snowy goodness and excitedly called work hoping – I don’t know – that it would be “cancelled” or something. Apparently, this doesn’t happen. While there are litigious concerns of a school bus full of children careening off the road into a frozen pond, that worry slowly diminishes as you get older, until you’re left with a 2.5 hour drive to work through Battlefield New Jersey with SUVs who – I swear to God – are trying to kill you. One person was actually reading a book as she slalomed her behemoth between cars. I think I saw her upside-down and on fire a few miles later. The SUV was unscathed.
All of upper management, being the smart and rich cookies they are, stayed home with various and sundry illnesses. The idiot plebes like myself who did make it to work were sent home promptly at 2pm. 2.5 hours home, and by then my snowy cheer had diminished into a vague grey cloud that hung over my head like a puff of evil. Or of Evil’s pipe.