eight days

January 9, 2003

I poured the second cup of coffee and carried it upstairs to my study so I could savor it while waiting on hold with the Massachusetts Division of Employment and Training unemployment Telefile center. I was still in the T-shirt I slept in, having had no reason to get dressed yet. I knew it had snowed again last night and this morning, but it didn't look like enough to have to worry about the plow coming to clear the parking lot. I took a sip of coffee and checked my email before picking up the phone.

All of a sudden I hear pounding on the door and my doorbell ringing frantically as if somebody is trying to tell me the house is on fire. It takes a minute to realize it's my doorbell because I am under the illusion that my back doorbell does not work. I guess it works if you pound it hard enough with a fist! When I finally realize it is my doorbell, I pull on a pair of jeans and run downstairs still barefoot and still wearing only the T-shirt on top.

On the way down the stairs, I hear that "truck backing up" sound. Oh no, it's the plow come to clear the parking lot! I glance toward the back door through the pass-thru and see that it's the crazy lady pounding on my door. Just when I'm afraid she's going to knock it off its hinges, she stomps away angrily believing she's failed to rouse me. Oh woe is me. She does not seem to be carrying her snow shovel or ice chopper so maybe I can get out safely.

The crazy lady is talking to the plow driver and gesturing angrily in the direction of my unit. I notice neither household of Russian Parking Space Blockers have moved their cars yet either. The crazy lady starts flailing at the Russian Parking Space Blockers' car with a snow brush. This is my window of opportunity to get out without having to interact with her.

I run out the back door to the car. I am not wearing shoes. My bare feet sink into the snow and I start shivering. I don't even take the time to brush the snow off the car. I leap in, turn on the windshield wipers to clear the front window and back out of the parking space using the outside mirrors to avoid hitting a neighbor's SUV and/or the plow. I turn on the rear window defroster in the hopes of melting the snow off and proceed to drive around the condo complex in a loop with the heater blowing on my frozen bare feet.

After about 6 circuits of the entire complex, I realize the plow is going to do all the other parking lots and then come back to ours. Damn. That means I'll have to park on the street and walk to my back door barefoot past the crazy lady. Fear grips me. She'll call the men in the white coats if she sees me barefoot, jacket-less, and wearing a T-shirt with no bra underneath! What will I do?

The snow blower guys are clearing some of the spaces along the edge of the complex near the pool. I make one more circuit around and discover a space near enough to my unit that I am reasonably sure I won't get frostbite walking back to my door. I pull in quickly, ahead of somebody else with a similar notion. I sit with the radio on and the heat blasting at my feet until I see the crazy lady go back inside for a minute. I walk as fast as I can without slipping on the ice. It hurts.

Whew! I am back inside and thawing my feet in the bathtub when the plow comes back and the crazy lady reappears. That was a close one.

I spend 34 minutes on hold with the unemployment people to file my claim, sipping lukewarm coffee. Later I go out to buy a new printer cartridge at Staples and pick up today's Lawrence Eagle Tribune. A front page story tells me that eight consecutive days of snow is a new record. Eight days.

Today's Reading
The Measure of All Things by Ken Alder

This Year's Reading
2003 Book List