Let it snow (someplace else)
OK, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen seven inches, and when it finally happened, it had to be snow. Bah.
No calling off from work today for me — the paper rolled up on press today. This morning, I found it hysterical that only, say, three people in my apartment complex’s parking lot (yes! I got a spot! woo hoo!) left to go to work this morning. And, of course, all three of us drive tiny sports cars. The people with the big-ass trucks and SUVs stayed happily snug in their respective spots this morning, while the rest of us valiantly braved the un-plowed lot.
Yeah, in all the plowing going on around Alexandria, my corner of the city failed to be accommodated, minus the main roads of Seminary and Van Dorn. I cut through a strip-mall lot (as I do every morning), and my featherweight car didn’t know whether to shit or go sailing, so she chose the latter — almost running headfirst into a medial strip. But I turned into the skid, held my breath and, luckily, Samantha was able to fly straight for (most of) the rest of the trip to Springfield.
And it’s time for Dawn’s annual bitch-fest about snow-time drivers, although Scott did an eloquent job covering the same acts of assholitry. A word of advice: clean off your cars, or we will assemble our mini-Mafia (of the two of us) and bruise your kneecaps with our ice scrapers. Even though you can’t see us through your snow mountain, we are still there, being buried in the avalanche of white shit that you didn’t see fit to manually remove from your vehicles.
There was a Big Important Meeting scheduled at work this morning, so I asked Angie to cover it for me. When she got there, there were only four people in the whole building, so the meeting was canceled. People, please. At least two thirds of the employees live within a normal five-minute drive of the place, yet everyone freaks and stays home without even calling off. I personally was waiting for Pussy Demure to activate the phone tree to tell me to stay home, but alas, I got no call. Maybe I’ll just “forget” to go in tomorrow, to make up for my sleigh ride down Van Dorn this morning.
I had meant to do laundry today (we’re going on three months of me just buying lots of new clothes here) — I have seven bags of clothes in my trunk. But then, once I got home, I decided fuck it, I ain’t going out again (and my clothes soap is FROZEN in my car). That reminds me, I fueled the vehicle last night and went to wash the crystallized bird shit from my back window, only to find that the window-washing fluid was frozen solid, too. Bah.
I hate this fucking weather. Anybody else have fun commuting stories?