Last night I drove home after my final teaching day for the semester. Thirteen weeks have come and gone, and despite my exhaustion, I was doing the Week 13 Happy Dance, which, by the way, is distinctly different than the Week 13 Dance of Regret, perfected and performed by Undergraduates world-wide.
A little after 8pm I dashed off to Satan's Speedway Gas-n-Go, located on a tiny triangle spit of land. It has the unfortunate distinction of being sandwiched, monkey-in-the middle style, between two major one-way highways. To the north is a bowling alley and, OH YEAH, the entrance to the expressway. To the south is a fast food emporium and a strip mall that includes a Michaels Craft Store, a Jo-Ann Fabrics and Crafts, a Sears Automotive Center and a Linens 'n Things, a combination guaranteeing NOBODY knows how to drive.
The problem is, whenever you enter the TunaVille Bermuda Triangle, no matter where you are, you suddenly need to be driving in the opposite direction NOW, six lanes over NOW, with a Big Mac and a large Diet Coke, NOW. The only way this can be accomplished NOW is by cutting through the Crash and Go. For that very reason, I avoid Satan's Speedway like the plague. Getting gas is hassle enough. I don't need to be dodging traffic while I squeegee my windows.
But here I was, in the Bermuda Triangle, at the Speedway, on a snowy winters night, willingly and happily getting gas. I glanced over at another brave soul, and we smiled at each other as if we possessed the secrets of the Sphinx. Paying the $2.26 bill, I drove off into the night.
When I got home, I shed my many layers and settled in. While countless CAPS-LOCK EMERGENCY EMAILS filled my inbox, I ate my supper. When the weatherman flashed maps with graphics of doom, I put on my pajamas. Even the television weather alert crawler brought to you by State Farm Insurance couldn't dampen my spirit as I watched The Donald fire last weeks Apprentice candidate again.
This morning I checked for school closings (check!) and then took a leisurely shower. I got dressed, donned my many layers and ventured out into the eight-plus inches of snow. Grabbing my $2.26 container of liquid gold, I smiled and waved at my neighbor. With a couple quick yanks and a loud ROAR I was ready for the maiden voyage of the USS Snowblower. Stepping into the arena knowing victory over the elements was all but assured, I watched with glee as the snow blew with maximum force right out of the driveway.
And right into my face.