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I should preface this little story by telling you Philadelphia was supposed to get, oh, three inches or so of snow. At this point, here by my apartment (I live beside a marsh, so it's slightly different), we're at, oh, eight inches or so.
3pm I pick up Minion Ryan for an afternoon of corsetry. Much work to be done.
9pm. I look outside. I see it's snowing. I ask Ryan if she's sure she has to get home tonight. She says yes, she has to feed her cats, clean their litter box, and go to school tomorrow.
10.15pm. It's time to take Ryan to the bus. I look out the window and quail. "You sure?" "Yeah."
10.20pm I walk to the car. Thick-soled shoes are great, but not if you don't wear socks and the snow's six inches deep. I manage to clear off the car. It's covered again by the time I get around the other side, but I figure it'll be fine once I start driving.
10.35 Ryan needs change for a ten to buy her bus ticket. We try Wendy's. Closed. By this time, I realise I will never get her to the bus stop in time. "You sure you have to be home tonight?" "I really would prefer to."
10.45 We decide to try for the train, which she can get in Center City. I get to the intersection before the Platt Bridge. I get a horrible sinking feeling.
10.50 I'm on the approach to the bridge. I'm most of the way to panic. Then the guy in the Cadillac in front of us wipes out into the guard rail. I snap. That's it. I'm not doing this. There is brief, undirected screaming. I may have used my outside voice.
10.51 No, NOW I snap. Because I realise I'M ON THE APPROACH TO THE BRIDGE AND I CAN'T GET OFF.
The next interval is hazy. It could have been minutes, but it felt like hours. I have never been so scared driving in my life. The side of the bridge on which I am driving (Northbound) has neither been plowed nor salted. It is covered in snow, slush and ice. I drive slowly, blinkers on, but constantly find myself swerving and sliding towards the wall. Cars have completely stopped in front of me, and my back window is covered in snow the defroster can't melt fast enough. So I can't really see clearly to change lanes-- which I had to just do anyway. My heart is racing. I feel sick. And I am pissed with myself for ever agreeing to something I KNEW was a stupid, bad idea in the first place. Ryan doesn't drive. She didn't know. I did.
We get to the top of the bridge. I am terrified of simply sliding down the other side. Thank G-d, we manage with no incident. I state-- or perhaps growl between clenched teeth-- that I will be turning around at the bottom of the bridge and retreating. I manage this: and thank G-d, the other side of the bridge had been plowed and salted. I had figured as much from seeing the traffic moving much faster there, and because we'd seen a plow in the intersection. I was angry-- why one side and not the other?-- but I know it's because the other side feeds directly into I95.
11.00 I decide to try for the airport to see if we can get Ryan to the R5.
11.05 I take one look at 95 and realise there's absolutely no point. None. The airport will have been closed long since. I apologise, but that's it. We're going home. Ryan wisely agrees.
11.12 Home again. And I've bloody well missed the best part of The Daily Show.
My heart has at last resumed a normal pace, and I, having consumed a large mug of decaf Earl Grey with quite a lot of hot milk in, am off to bed.
It is still snowing.
3pm I pick up Minion Ryan for an afternoon of corsetry. Much work to be done.
9pm. I look outside. I see it's snowing. I ask Ryan if she's sure she has to get home tonight. She says yes, she has to feed her cats, clean their litter box, and go to school tomorrow.
10.15pm. It's time to take Ryan to the bus. I look out the window and quail. "You sure?" "Yeah."
10.20pm I walk to the car. Thick-soled shoes are great, but not if you don't wear socks and the snow's six inches deep. I manage to clear off the car. It's covered again by the time I get around the other side, but I figure it'll be fine once I start driving.
10.35 Ryan needs change for a ten to buy her bus ticket. We try Wendy's. Closed. By this time, I realise I will never get her to the bus stop in time. "You sure you have to be home tonight?" "I really would prefer to."
10.45 We decide to try for the train, which she can get in Center City. I get to the intersection before the Platt Bridge. I get a horrible sinking feeling.
10.50 I'm on the approach to the bridge. I'm most of the way to panic. Then the guy in the Cadillac in front of us wipes out into the guard rail. I snap. That's it. I'm not doing this. There is brief, undirected screaming. I may have used my outside voice.
10.51 No, NOW I snap. Because I realise I'M ON THE APPROACH TO THE BRIDGE AND I CAN'T GET OFF.
The next interval is hazy. It could have been minutes, but it felt like hours. I have never been so scared driving in my life. The side of the bridge on which I am driving (Northbound) has neither been plowed nor salted. It is covered in snow, slush and ice. I drive slowly, blinkers on, but constantly find myself swerving and sliding towards the wall. Cars have completely stopped in front of me, and my back window is covered in snow the defroster can't melt fast enough. So I can't really see clearly to change lanes-- which I had to just do anyway. My heart is racing. I feel sick. And I am pissed with myself for ever agreeing to something I KNEW was a stupid, bad idea in the first place. Ryan doesn't drive. She didn't know. I did.
We get to the top of the bridge. I am terrified of simply sliding down the other side. Thank G-d, we manage with no incident. I state-- or perhaps growl between clenched teeth-- that I will be turning around at the bottom of the bridge and retreating. I manage this: and thank G-d, the other side of the bridge had been plowed and salted. I had figured as much from seeing the traffic moving much faster there, and because we'd seen a plow in the intersection. I was angry-- why one side and not the other?-- but I know it's because the other side feeds directly into I95.
11.00 I decide to try for the airport to see if we can get Ryan to the R5.
11.05 I take one look at 95 and realise there's absolutely no point. None. The airport will have been closed long since. I apologise, but that's it. We're going home. Ryan wisely agrees.
11.12 Home again. And I've bloody well missed the best part of The Daily Show.
My heart has at last resumed a normal pace, and I, having consumed a large mug of decaf Earl Grey with quite a lot of hot milk in, am off to bed.
It is still snowing.