Once upon a time, when I was young and stupid and didn’t know any better, I actually wished that I lived someplace where it snowed. I had never seen snow, except of course in cartoons. And the cartoons always made snow seem like sooooo much fun. I envisioned huge enormous snowball fights with huge enormous snow forts that had been carefully designed and fortified to repel enemy invaders. I of course would win these epic battles, because my cause was noble and just.
Having already made up my mind, I would ask my father when we could move someplace where it snowed. My father, who had grown up in a land of cold winters, responded wisely, “you wouldn’t like the snow if you had to live in it.”
What did he mean? How was this possible? It always looked like the most fun ever on television! Television wouldn’t lie to me would it? Television was my friend!
Thankfully, we never moved to where it snowed. Years later I ventured into a strange, distant, and snowy land during my college years.
At first it wasn’t so bad. A little snowfall. Then it melted. No big deal. People kept telling me not to get used to it. The real snowfall would come in time.
Eventually, it did. And I learned just how terrible snow really is.
It was cold. It was wet. It was miserable. This problem was heightened by the fact that
- A.) The warmest thing I actually owned was my leather jacket.
- B.) All my shoes had holes in them so my socks would end up getting soaked from walking across campus.
- C.) Seriously, that stuff is cold.
Quickly I learned exactly what my dad had meant when he told me that I wouldn’t enjoy living in it. Previous to my college years we always left the snow up in the mountains where it belonged. If we wanted to go to where there was snow, we knew where to find it–safely tucked away in the Sierras. But now it was everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
It was outside the door. On the stairs. On the sidewalks. On the car. Driving anywhere wasn’t just a chore, it was a burden. First you had to get all the inches of snow off your car. Then you had to scrape off the ice underneath. Then you had to defog your windshield so you could actually see where you driving. (Sometimes, I just didn’t have patience for this last step. I may have been a little reckless.) And by some strange twist of cruel winter fate, it was always actually colder INSIDE your car then it was outside. Seriously. WHY WAS IT ALWAYS COLDER INSIDE MY CAR?! One should not be able to see one’s breath fogging everywhere inside your car. That’s just not right man. Not right at all.
The road was covered with ice, so who knows if you’d even make it back from Carl’s Jr. alive. You better enjoy that last meal.
I know what you’re going to say. “Oh but Matt, the snow is so pretty!”
FALSE. The snow is pretty for about a day. A DAY. You know what happens after that? It turns gray. It captures all the smog and dirt and filth and pollution that hovers trapped in the mountains and IT TURNS DIRTY AND GRAY. So you can’t play with it, and it doesn’t even look good anymore. The ONE redeeming quality of snow and it doesn’t last. Don’t believe me? Go ahead. Do an image search for “dirty snow.” Here. I’ll even provide the link for you:
I had to live in that man. -shudders-
Fortunately I don’t have to concern myself with this evil any longer. Here in my homeland of California my leather jacket provides all the warmth I need for our 50-something degree winters. And my trusty car manages to keep me warm without the need of ice scrapers. In fact, it has been several years since I’ve even seen any real snow.