Snow Day

I got very little “real” work done yesterday, unless you count the physical labor of shoveling snow. By lunchtime, the steps and sidewalk outside the condominium building where I live and work were piled high with a blanket of fluff. The “super” for our building is a part-timer with a day job, and I’m the only able-bodied male around the building during the day, so it was up to me. (Apparently. No one else seemed to be volunteering.)

There was just one problem: the shovels and salt were in the basement, and the basement was locked. We have a key, but my wife had it with her at work. (I keep forgetting to make a copy.)

I thought maybe I should just wait until she got home—usually around 6 or 6:30—but the snow was piling up fast against the front door. I decided to get a broom and at least try to sweep the fluffy stuff from the steps.

It worked at first, but some of the snow was frozen onto the concrete. I tried using the broom handle to break it up, but it was a cheap, plastic broom and the handle broke. Frustration. I went back upstairs and got the dustpan to use as a hand shovel. It worked pretty well on the steps.

While I was doing that—and feeling pretty silly scraping a dustpan along the stoop—our downstairs neighbor came trudging down the street with her kids. She suggested getting the basement key from another neighbor, a recent stroke victim, whom I didn’t realize was at home. She got the key for me, I found the shovel and a bag of salt pellets in the basement, and set back to work in earnest.

A guy from the building next door was also shoveling and offered to help me. Who says people aren’t neighborly in the city? We shoveled for a while, and then I threw some salt around, on his steps and sidewalk as well as mine.

Unfortunately, I used my bare hand to reach into the bag and grab the salt pellets, not realizing what this might do to my skin. I ended up with something resembling a mild sunburn on my right hand. When I was finished, I ran upstairs, washed up, and sprayed lots of Solarcaine (left over from last summer) onto my burnt digits.

The snow was still coming down in plump, wet flakes, and I knew I’d soon have to go out and shovel again. My hand was sore. I made myself a cup of coffee, sat down and thought of the myth of Sisyphus.

(Last year, I wrote a short story--published by Biffs Online--on a similar theme: Snow in the City. It won Biffs' "winter theme" contest.)