I dislike the snow. When I say that people call me a crotchety old man. Well no, I mean, I don’t think my advanced mental age has anything to do with my dislike of snow. I dislike the snow because it disrupts, well, everything. And now that I’m not in school snow days don’t exist. I still have to go to work only it’s a pain to get to the place I’m forced to go only because I need money to pay for things I like such as rent, food, and toilet paper. But it extends beyond that here’s why I dislike the snow.
I will first concede that watching snow fall and how it settles over everything is sort of nice. That pristine snow blanket that covers the backyard or patio area, cars, the road before cars brave them, all of that is nice. What is not nice is when the snow gets driven on, sanded, graveled, and then turns a brownish grey. This I detest. It is not clean; it reminds me that the world around me is filthy. I don’t care for that reminder. After about 2 hours of beauty we are then subjected to days if not weeks of gross looking snow everywhere. That isn’t a fair trade at all.
Speaking of gravel I hate this stuff. Yeah, great, it helps cars gain traction but when the snow melts where does it all eventually get pushed to? My bike lanes. What was laid down to help cars safely drive in slippery conditions is now responsible for making my commutes more treacherous. What’s worse I can anticipate the gravel being in my bike lanes until April or later. Trust me on this, it sticks around forever.
The snow also means I can’t ride my bike. This will always upset me as I need that bike. In the coming week I’ll start to get really down on myself and my life. I’ll be stuck walking to work or taking the MAX and I’ll hate it. When I’m hating that I’ll think about other things I hate until I work myself up into some weird little funk. This funk will go away the moment I get on my bike but not a moment before that. I have no doubt that my mood being so tied into my bike is probably not a great thing, but then I can almost always ride my bike unless the roads are covered with ice. And I’ve been debating the bike riding vs. the not bike riding since Sunday at 9 in the morning. Riding my bike with its skinny little tires I know is a mistake. The two times I’ve tried to ride in the snow I’ve fall down. One of those times left me with a scar and I was almost hit by a bus. Snow and ice have bested me and I have accepted this. The other part of me thinks that riding might be okay if I just go slow and take my time. But then that type of riding doesn’t appeal to me. I like to fly. I dislike having to go at partial speed because I’m unsure if I can stop or make turns. If that’s the case I’ll use other means of transportation. But darn it I want to ride my bike so bad and not be bested by anything. I’d like nothing to stand in my way from doing what I want to do. I will now return this debate to its internal location from whence it came.
The snow makes us all act like idiots. Those that shouldn’t drive but think the can do and wreck their cars or just leave them stranded on the freeways. I’m always confused by those people. They just leave the cars after throwing their hands up and yelling “this course is impossible!” Do they then ask someone they know to pick them up at the next exit? Does that person then get stuck so then they call another friend or family member as they both wait to be saved? Is this some endless cycle that finally ends with some curmudgeon of a friend says “what, you’re all stranded? No I’m not going to come bail your asses out, you’re all a bunch of idiots, why would I reward this type of behavior?” It, the snow, makes people into panicked stricken morons, “I need chains!” “Someone please install these chains!” “What do you mean I need to know my tire size, chains are different?!?!” I know this and other tire related inquires and exclamations because I’m about to take a serious digression into a trip I had to make to Les Schwab.
It was bad enough I had to be at work today after treating Sunday night like a Friday night and staying out too late. I then got a call from my boss saying that one of our VP’s would like chains for his car. This was at 10:30. Upstairs I go to talk to the receptionist to find out where his car is. Naturally the car isn’t at work so I don’t know his tire size. I mull this over and decide to call our tire vendor to see if they can tell me the tire size. This was a brilliant course of action. With my tire size in hand I call the local Les Schwab. The line was busy. I tried again the line was busy. I tried about 5 more times and got the phone to ring. The phone then rang long enough that I began to wonder how many times a phone rings in a minute. Based on my findings your typical phone rings once every 6 seconds, or 10 times a minute. I heard probably 150 phone rings before someone finally picked up. Success they had the tire chains.
At 11:00 I was back in the elements wearing my many layers
The walk to Les Schwab isn’t an awful walk. I cross through the Pearl. I believe I’m one of the few people that actually likes the Pearl District. I like it because it is clean, no one asks me for change, and they have some shops that are cool and also some shops that give me pause and wonder why it exists. I then cross over the freeway into the Alphabet District which is not without its charms. For instance, on this day as I was working my way towards Les Schwab a man in only a sports coat, shirt, and pair of shorts crossed in front of me. The temperature outside was hovering around the mid 20’s at the time so the choice shorts seemed dubious. I was unable to tell if the man was homeless, or insane, or just one of those stalwart I-wear-shorts-year-round-and-fuck-the-weather-and-those-who-judge type of guys, or if this was merely all he had to wear today. I really hope he had something, anything, to change into because when I did my double take to look at the man, his path perpendicular to mine, and his backside now the side I could see, it was pretty clear he’d shit his pants. The brown stain was still a little moist looking and was of a light brown that made me think it was a ‘wet’ shit. By this time the man was clear across the street and on his way.
I finally arrived at Les Schwab and the line inside was large. I made a quick move to use the restroom and then stepped back into the waiting area and realized that the line was even longer than I thought. I got at the back and waited. Les Schwab is the kind of place that makes me dislike other people. For some reason a lot of people think their needs are more important or pressing then those around them so they throw a little fit to get their way. I’ve watched time and time again. I’ve waited in this Les Schwab for more hours than I can count and invariably there are assholes who think that they should get treated like the good people they think they are. Only I’d counter that by acting like an asshat and demanding service you’re not a good person. I’d get into an even longer description of this European asshole that was so worried he wouldn’t get what he wanted that he cut to the front of the line multiple times, slowed everything down as a result, and then got the chains that he wanted after only confusing everyone behind the counter. The mere fact that this behavior was rewarded with him essentially cutting in front of me and about 6 other people was nearly enough for me to yell “hey asshole, wait your fucking turn you fucktard, also your pants, jacket, and shoes suck.” No, I bit my tongue and watched him leave. I take solace in the fact that it was pretty evident that he didn’t know this tire size and seized a pair of chains that he thought might work. Here’s hoping he spent 75 bucks on chains that don’t work.
Cute girls receive way, way, way more help with tire chains than guys do.
I returned to work with the tire chains. I thought my time with Les Schwab was done but then we had the chains for the Tower Van break and I was back trekking there for the third time in as many work days. I really don’t want to go back until, at the earliest, March.
That and a few other reasons is why I dislike the snow. I live in Portland because the weather is temperate and I shouldn’t have to deal with this crap. It was pointed out to me that I live in Portland because I was born here and I’m not prone to moving. That person is probably right. If I were born in Michigan I’d still be there probably about 50 pounds heavier and a fan of football. If anything I really dodged a bullet there.
Cocking a snook.
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