Naturally, when you go to sleep knowing there is DOOOOOOOM 2009™ !!!1!! outside, you wake with the hope that you won’t have to work in the morning. I checked my e-mail this morning, saw we had a two-hour delay from an e-mail sent last night (yeah, I didn’t check it last night—if I had, I woulda set my alarm later; oh well, live and learn). In any case, since I have to catch the bus to get downtown, that meant that I still had to leave pretty early.
So I checked my e-mail many times this morning, to no avail. Finally, I begrudgingly got ready for work. Stepped outside. Said: “This is waaaay to much D00000/\/\!1!one!!! How can they still be open?” So I decided to actually call our “snow line” and sure ‘nuff, we’re closed today.
I still don’t have the e-mail saying we’re closed that’s supposed to go out with the notification system. Oh well.
The weathermen FINALLY got something right. 1/6 ain’t bad. I mean, if you’re talking about goals per shot in hockey as opposed to something useful, like, say, how many days we were predicted to have D0000000M!111!!!!!!!. As I told the people at Subway yesterday when I ordered my sandwich (which yesterday was the Italian BMT), “If you were weathermen, you’d be making me a veggie patty sandwich right now instead of the BMT I ordered. And you wouldn’t get fired. Feel free to curl up in the fetal position in the corner and cry for a few minutes.” (Okay, that last sentence I might have added just now; but it was the intent, man, the INTENT!)
Update:
BTW, I should add in the interest of fairness that we haven’t got anywhere near the 1-3 feet that was predicted. (Oh, I forgot to mention that earlier; last you heard from here they said four inches yesterday and eight during the night. Silly me! They updated the D000M!!!11!! to say 1-3 feet. Now go back and re-read the first sentence of this paragraph.)
We’ve got, in fact, variable amounts of snow. I say that because there is lots of blowing d00M!!!eleventy!! still flying around and drifting. So, part of my driveway has exactly 0.0 inches of doom while there is a big pile of doom right against the garage door that is probably about six inches deep. On the other hand, there IS a lot of ice underneath all the doom, and walking upon it is not what you would necessarily call “fun” although it is quite exhilarating if you fear broken bones, bruises, or looking like an idiot in public (I solved that last problem by volunteering to play guitar for a Young Life club for five years, after which looking like an idiot in public is an upgrade).
