Today, the NYC metro area is in the middle of a 'snowmageddon', a nor'easter which is supposed to last for thirty-six hours and dump about a foot-and-a-half of snow (about 46 centimeters) on the region. When I left for work on Sunday night, we had already accumulated about four inches (10 centimeters) of snow. I made my way as expeditiously as possible to the main highway, then drove in the wake of two snowplow/salt spreader trucks, following at a distance of about two hundred feet (61 meters)- not only am I dead-set against tailgating, but if one follows too closely behind a salt-spreader, the particles of rock salt can take the paint right off of the hood of the car.
Last night was uneventful, I was bundled up (I even broke out the flannel-lined jeans for the frigid weather), and hunkered down. I shoveled snow outside the main building three or four times to make sure that the doors could be opened.
When I left work at 7AM, I walked to the Tarrytown train station and got on the 7:39 to Grand Central Terminal. The train conductor told me that I was one of only five passengers on this train to Manhattan. I had the car to myself, a private railcar like that of a 19th Century robber baron.
When I arrived at Yonkers, I ran to the bus stop just in time to see the 25 bus pulling away from the curb as I ran, arms flailing. I was pissed off, because I was facing the prospect of waiting another 20 minutes for the next bus. Fortuitously, another '25' pulled up about a minute later. Sure, it was poor synchronization, but I wasn't complaining. Twenty minutes later, and I was home, shoveling the sidewalk in front of the house with my upstairs neighbor.
Luckily, I had put on a big pot of red sauce the night before, so I had a great meal before passing out from exhaustion. The carbs will come in handy when I go out to shovel snow again... and again... and again.