We have a little snow. Some areas around us have a lot of snow, up to two feet plus. Not my house. We receive a reported total of four inches, but my car this morning says closer to one inch of snow. Regardless of the overall outcome, I do get stuck in the storm at work.
It starts to snow at a decent clip at the exact time the school has its early release. The line of traffic leaving the parking lot, between parents and teachers and high school students, stretches on for a mile or so, and it takes a painstakingly lengthy amount of time to get ourselves to the main road -- the unplowed main road -- not because plows aren't out because they are. The road is unplowed because the line of traffic blocks everything.
When I finally reach the main road, which I merely have to cross to get to a side road, I am relieved that the traffic stays on the popular route while I jaunt off to a semi-plowed but completely vehicle-less route.
BAM! POW! POOF! SMACK! KABLAM! Holy crap on a cracker! I'm under attack!
The heavy and wet snow that clings to the trees may not be as adhesive as it wants to pretend. Giant plops of snow strike the windshield, the roof, and the hood of my car as I drive down the street. It's as if my car is maneuvering through Frosty's Terrorist Snow War.
The first few times I hear the sound, I jump inside my car and strain the seatbelt. It's the same reaction we New Englanders have in the autumn when those damn acorns hit the car and we think the Mafia has targeted us. But, I glance in my mirrors. Nobody else is on the road, and the snowfall, though thick and daunting, is quite stunning.
Once I acclimate myself to the constant barrage of snow missiles, I start laughing. I mean, it is kind of hilarious that my car is running the snowball gauntlet. Just as I approach a wide-open intersection, which is treeless and presumably a safe zone, one giant mass of snow pelts the windshield with a humongous slopping WHACK.
I manage to get home and park, all without sliding off the road, becoming snow blind, nor crapping my own drawers from the somewhat white-knuckled commute.
