Day 092: I Totally Forgot That I Fucking Hate Snow

It looks so wondrous at first. With the fluffy white flakes blanketing the city, it dampens the noise and causes everyone to hunker down. The city is, for a moment, almost tolerable. You might even still feel romantic about it the next day, despite your shoes getting wet when you weren’t able to leap over a slush pond to cross the street. It’s still exhilarating and different. But then, a time will come where you actually have to do a task. For me, that task was laundry. I thought to myself, “It’s not actively snowing, it’ll be a breeze”. That kind of logic is as disappointing and problematic as thinking, “The exam is written in English, it’ll be a breeze”.

It’s never a breeze. It’s always bad. And what was once a Winter Wonderland is now a Prison Stabbing.

Typically, I drive to the laundromat. I can’t do that, because the car is covered and surrounded by snow. The storm suspended alternate side parking, so now my spot is safe to stay in for 3 more weeks. That’s the fucking dream. There’s no way in hell I’m going to go through the effort to clean off the car, dig out a path and leave my cozy spot to drive through the slushy unknown. Not happening. So I guess I’m pushing the cart there. Which should be easy, because the sidewalks are shoveled, right?

Wrong again, bub.

What’s left for pedestrians is a landing strip of sidewalk. After having to carry the cart over multiple slush ponds, I had to maneuver an obstacle course from hell: melting turds, garbage bags, discarded masks that get stuck in the wheels, drunk dudes pissing on buildings, and let’s not forget, gasp, other people! And they all walk so. Fucking. Slow. There’s no escape. You’re forever stuck tailgating them through one lane traffic. And then if there’s opposing traffic, you’ll have to move over into the snow to let them through. Finally, at one point, I picked up my cart and stumbled into the street. It’s somehow safer there, for my life and sanity.

I guess I should count my blessings. I could live in a nice neighborhood. Over there, the sidewalks are comprised of marbleized stone and metal grates. It is legitimately impossible for me to maneuver, no matter what footwear I sport. And instead of dodging turds and urine, I’d be dodging socially distanced brunchers, so basically the same thing. The grass isn’t greener on the other side. Both grasses are covered in brown snow.

And of course, because there’s snow, I can’t write outside like a usually do. I dumbly bought an Arizona CAUTION and realized that I had nowhere to sit and enjoy it. The chairs have been taken inside and there’s no clean curb to plop on. Even the stray cats had difficulty finding refuge. I had to stand huddled next to a donation bin, like a fucking smoker, and chug my bev. And now I’m writing inside the stuffy laundromat, among maskless, snotty-nosed toddlers while Rihanna loudly urges to me to “work work work work work” through the tinny TV speakers.

Doing laundry is usually an experience I enjoy. It gives me serenity and a sense of balance. A place to chill in public, enjoy a bev and write. Suddenly, it’s a living hell and it’s all because of snow.

– TeeCoZee