When I arrived at work on Sunday the place was a-buzz with snow-talk. I knew nothing of this, and Toney is usually all over such things. Some of the more dramatic people were claiming that a foot of the stuff would be on the ground by morning. But snow predictions are like politics, it’s best to ignore the crazies on both ends of the spectrum.
I checked it out on my phone, and it appeared that some snow was indeed on its way, but only about three inches. The timing wasn’t good, though. Accuweather said it would be coming down “heavily” after midnight, and that’s when I would be driving home. But I could deal with three inches, I told myself. Nothing to be concerned about…
However, as the evening progressed, the prediction of accumulation changed multiple times. It went from three inches, to four-to-six, to six-to-eight, and finally… eight-to-ten. What the hell, man?? And my gas light had come on in my car, as I was pulling into the parking lot earlier in the day. It might be an interesting ride home.
And it was. When I left work, there was already four or five inches of snow on the ground, and NONE of the roads had been touched by a plow. It was just pure, undiluted snow for the entire ride. And it was coming down like a freakin’ Christmas special out there.
I slipped and slided my way to an exit off I-81, where there was a Sheetz gas station. The exit is a long swooping ordeal, and it appeared that not another vehicle had yet negotiated it. There was a pronounced rectal-cinching.
But I kept my car on the road, and eventually came to a red light. Funk dat. I went straight through it, without even a hint of slow-down. And when I arrived at the next red light, I did the same thing. While driving in a snowstorm, it’s important to maintain a sensible and consistent speed. And I was the only idiot out there, anyway.
Incredibly, there was a bunch of derelicts hanging out at Sheetz. There’s a general seediness to that part of town, but during the storm of the century?? There was a questionable character by the front door with a long scar down his neck, and a green Army jacket. He was smoking (needless to say), and just stared at me as I walked past. Not a fan of the staring…
I gave the unfriendly shitsack cashier thirty bucks cash, and put a few gallons of gas into my tank. As I was completing the task (it didn’t take long, at $3.25 per gallon), several hunk o’ junk vehicles arrived, carrying dodgy characters with poor grooming habits, and raspy-voiced women with high heels and a beer gut.
I made it out of there without being stabbed, and returned to Interstate 81. And mister… it was not fun. It was just totally snow-covered, and nothing had been done to the road, whatsoever. It was still pouring, and cars and trucks were sliding all over the place. I saw a few that were completely off the highway, and I watched a guy in a pick-up truck do a full 360-degree rooster-tailing circle — on 81! Actually, it was more like a 390-degree circle, and he ended up near (or against) the guard rail.
Going across Montage Mountain sucked, and every muscle in my body was in a state of perma-flex. I didn’t think I would crash, but I knew there was a very good chance of me getting stuck somewhere. I’m not inexperienced when it comes to driving in snow, and was having trouble keeping it under control.
But I made it to my exit, and went sideways up the hill toward our house. That was the most touch-and-go part of the whole journey. I barely made it, but I finally landed in our driveway. As I turned off the engine, I realized I was completely stressed. It had taken more than 90 minutes to travel 36 miles (with one gas station detour).
I went inside, grabbed a Yuengling, and let Andy (Black Lips Houlihan) frolic in the snow, and create a steaming brown spot in the white, etc. There must have been near a foot of accumulation at that point. It was insane. And just two or three days earlier, it was 75 degrees out there.
Yeah, it was the worst or second-worst ride home from work so far. But I made it, without needing fresh underwear and ointment, like Nostrils during a Southern rainstorm. I want the record to reflect that, thank you very much.
And I’ll leave you now with some Twitter ridiculousness. A couple of days ago someone started something called #awfulsupergroups, where you’re supposed to post absurd musician combos, like Boyz II Men at Work. You know, that kind of thing.
My favorite? Phish Styx. Yeah, I wish I would’ve thought of that one… That’s fantastic.
I got fully obsessed with it for several hours, and posted a bunch of stuff there. Here are my contributions, in case you care:
The Peter, Paul, and Mary Chain
The Talking Lemonheads
Three Dog Night Ranger
My Chemical Hole
The Butthole Stripes
The Fall & Oates
Cannibal Corpse & Dawn
A Flock of Cee-Lo
Men Without Dickies
Iggy & the Pips
And that’s gonna be your Question of the Day, folks. Can you come up with additional “awful super groups?” Please use the comments link below.
And I’ll see you again tomorrow.
Have yourselves a great day!