I don’t want to be in a quarantine within a quarantine, the outdoors closed to me as well as my home being closed to others, just because a lower level winter godlet came up with the big bright idea of icing the stubbornly remaining mounds of snow with freezing drizzle. I step out to assess the sidewalk for my daily walk. Mmmkay, some mitzvahteer (good deeder) shoveled it without cutting corners. I could actually see the bare concrete itself as if it were getting ready for a sunbath. I get both feet to agree to make their next moves, congratulating myself for not letting a little chill intimidate me into a retreat. But then, after I reach the corner of the block, I stop short. The #@$!% did not shovel the snow away from the corner curb cut! There is a great hulking heap of it blocking my way! (Yes, they did not cut corners, but they did not shovel them either.) What good is it to have all that concrete screaming to me that it is all cleared of every last snowflake so that my undeserving self might indulge in prancing along it, only to thwart my progress once I reach the first intersection? What, I’m supposed to confine myself to pacing back and forth on one block? Or risk falling on ice- encrusted snow by clambering over a mountain range?
The snow on the curb consists of about 5% of the snow that had covered the rest of the sidewalk, more or less. But that neglected 5% casts a shadow on the remaining 95%, rendering it useless does it not? Now let’s think about that together. If someone can’t walk more than a few steps and a driver takes them 95% of the way and no further, that accomplishes nothing more than not to take the ride at all. Be aware of not finishing what you start. And there, my friends, is my profound moral for the day.
And now for the other matter I must bring up. If you are guilty of this, then I hope you feel thoroughly rebuked! Yes, it takes hours to diligently and thoroughly dig out a parking spot after a snowstorm, and yes, some spots are not fully finished (verging on the problem above). But: when I have left my spot, and someone has taken it ( who knows full well I did all that work on it), and THEN I look for another, and I see a good one but which has a garbage can or chair upon the center of it, I want to call the city. I don’t of course. I must not be thought of as a whiner. I just steam with indignation. And I don’t remove the offending object off to the side because the maniac might damage my car for taking THEIR alleged spot and removing THEIR property.
So I haphazardly park in an inferior spot, hearing lots of crunch crunching as I do so as if the car were being murdered. Then I leave, having to choose between clambering over another mountain range at one curb, or stepping up to my ankle in filthy slush at the other. I make it back inside my home as I whine some more at the irrationality and pettiness of others who let mere frozen water, in all of its manifestations, strip away all sense of community and empathy in a cold unfeeling world.