My feelings about snow has always varied depending on where I’m living.
In North Carolina, snow was a magical force for good. If it snowed, even a little bit, you could count on all the schools in the area shutting down indefinitely. There would be panic in the streets if everyone wasn’t too terrified to go outside. This one time, school was cancelled for a whole month.
It was beautiful until the cabin fever set in.
But then I saw the dark side of snow when I moved to New York. New York was willfully stubborn when it came to snow. The city refuses to acknowledge the snow even exists. I once stood in a snowbank for almost two hours waiting for the bus to take me to school. Then another two hours getting to school. I got there around the time they started serving lunch.
Boston seems to have a similar attitude to the snow. It’s not just a refusal to shut down. It’s an adamant denial that the snow is even there. “Hoho! It’s just a smidgen of powder,” they say as their tires churn through a foot of snow. “Not as bad as ’78!” they say as they dig in the snowbanks for their lost children. “Today looks like a nice day to buy a book,” they say as the temperature drops to levels man was not meant to endure.
Point is, Bostonians are crazy and I don’t wanna work today.