When I woke up this morning, I heard a plow go through. I felt that I would definitely make it in to work. So I went about my daily preparation, and after watching traffic reports, I thought I should start my commute a few minutes early. Nothing drastic, I just brushed my teeth a bit quicker. There was the possibility that I might have to dig out of my garage a bit, so I allowed time for that.
And then I tried leaving my house. Surprise! The snow was halfway up to my door, and I had to push like a fiend to get through. Then, I had to wade through snow up to my hips through my backyard to the garage. In that moment, I realized that I might have underestimated my ability to get to work.
When I opened the garage door, I saw that I was fucked. I almost gave up then and there. It would take me twenty minutes to tunnel through to the plowed part of the alley. By then, I'd be late for work, so why bother going in at all?
No. That is unacceptable. I refuse to let weather conditions stop me. Besides, this is a new job, and I sure as shit don't want to disappoint anyone. I grabbed a shovel and in a mad frenzy, dug my way from the garage to the plowed part of the alley. It sucked, because the plow had gone through, and instead of aiming the snow at the fence, it aimed it at the line of garage doors. It took me about fifteen minutes to carve away just enough snow in order to fit my car through.
Or so I thought. I backed out, but when I got to the fence and put it into drive, I couldn't get traction. I tried all the tricks, and it amounted to jack fucking shit. So I got out and shoveled under each tire and tried again.
No dice. I got out and shoveled more, and cursing and sweating, I screamed at my car as I tried to get traction yet again. Snow flew in all directions, but I finally had movement. Roaring my battle cry, I finally got the car heading out to the street . . . where the plows had left a giant hump of snow across the alley exit.
William Wallace himself couldn't beat my war cry as I gunned my vehicle and blew through the snow hump and into the street. My tires slipped across the icy street, but I used the momentum to keep moving through to the main street in front of my house. Only then did I know that I'd finally defeated my city's shoddy weather practices.
And then I got to the expressway. The Empire had sent out an army of AT-AT's to make sure I didn't make it to work, and I suddenly wished for a Tauntaun to get me through. Luckily, I'd just installed blasters on my fenders, and with the help of a lone Jedi, I was able to break through the line and get the fuck off of Hoth--
Eh, all right. The expressway wasn't too bad. Shockingly enough, all of my fellow commuters, even the truckers, were acting like reasonable people (I told you I've seen things you people wouldn't believe), so I made it in to work in pretty good time.
In fact, I was early.
Don't congratulate me yet. I still have to drive home after work, and that's not going to be good. Somehow, I don't see snow removal happening in my alley, which means I'm going to have to break my back shoveling. Seriously, I'm in rough shape as it is. I've got a pain in the side that's almost reminiscent of the time I had pancreatitis, and I can't breathe in too deeply without needing to cough. My legs are wobbly. I'm pretty sure I need a nap right now. Now I know what the guy at the end of "The Raft" segment of CREEPSHOW 2 felt like. Sure, I beat the weather, but it's going to get me as soon as I get home. Fuck.
For the first time in a log time, I dread going home from work. Maybe I should just camp out here until all the snow goes away. Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. Good luck to the rest of you.