12-30-00
Last night I was watching the snow plows come through and clear the streets. Midway through their task, they leave a ridge of snow in the middle of the street that they attend to several minutes later, whisking it away to God-knows-where. But in the meantime, no one is able to drive across the street that has this ridge of snow down the middle of it.
For some reason, I found this to be hilarious. Watching other people get stuck in the snow gives me a sinister, terribly perverse thrill. Maybe because it means I'm not the only one that is constantly thwarted in action by winter's cruel offspring -- the drift, the ice, the generic evil snow.
My downstairs neighbor with the illegal live-in boyfriend always makes him go out and dig out her car for her. Yesterday he shovelled and plowed, and when she came out a half-an-hour later, she got stuck. I peered out every once in a while to check their progress. Maybe I should have offered to help, but then I don't have someone else to do my shovelling for me. I need to reserve all of my snow-related hostility for my own problems.
As for me? I've got a date with a snow shovel and a drift that I believe may actually be my car. It's hard to tell at this point.
