The dire warnings swarmed throughout the media ahead of last
week’s snowfall. A “Bomb Cyclone,” was going to smash the East Coast and wreak
havoc on our lives. I left work on Wednesday prepared to work from home on
Thursday amid a cataclysmic blizzard.
Early the next morning, I checked my work email on my work phone and looked out the
window repeatedly for an indication that the ice age apocalypse was upon us and
that I should stay home and enjoy a work-from-home day. It looked
underwhelming. There was not even any snow sticking to the street and the
collection of snow on the parked cars in my neighborhood looked relatively
mild. I decided that the “Bomb Cyclone” had fizzled and that not showing up to
work in person would be bad.
When I got outside, the snow was coming down at a healthy
clip, and I regretted not bringing my umbrella. There were not as many
commuters on the morning bus, as people saner than I were in their warm homes
getting some extra sleep. The commute to work was uneventful, and I was at my
desk at my normal time.
Things were uneasy though. The snow kept coming down at a
faster pace. From a high floor of a high office building, where normally one
can see all the way to Eastern Queens, the nearby buildings were barely visible
through the snowy haze. Sure enough, this Bomb Cyclone was for real, at least
in that it was dumping a ton of snow on our city at great speed. Snow was being
blown sideways and windy updrafts made it appear that it was snowing from the
ground up like some kind of winter flurry from the upside down.
Few people had made it into work. Most of them not even
bothering with the commute in. There were so few of us in the office that one
of the administrative assistants had lunch brought in for everyone. While
enjoying my free sandwich, I started wondering how I would get home. My boss
sent me a photo of Han Solo on a Tauntaun from The
Empire Strikes Back.
The snow kept going into the afternoon, and I decided I
would try to leave work early in order to get a head start on the commute home,
which I assumed would be a journey of misery and anger lasing hours.
By the time I left work at 4 p.m., snow had stopped falling
in downtown Manhattan and visibility had resumed. The streets did not look
great but what little traffic there was appeared to be moving. Arriving in
Herald Square for my commuter bus, 6th Avenue had been plowed during
the day but not recently enough and several inches of snow had been pulverized
into sickly slush by hours of traffic.
I stood on the sidewalk with the cold wind punching me in
the face as some of my fellow commuters huddled for cover. Being cooped up on
an office all day, it felt good to feel the real world, even when it feels like
Old Man Winter is hitting you in the face with a cinderblock.
The ultimate irony of the Bomb Cyclone: it took me less time
to get home from work than it normally does. This was because enough people had
been scared away from the city and because I left a little bit before normal
rush hour.
As our commuter bus headed over the 59th Street
Bridge, I saw a line of inactive snowplows parked along the street on 1st
or 2nd Avenue. The avenues of Flushing had been plowed but our bus
struggled a bit up some sloping streets. By the next morning though, the
streets were clear.
A hard, biting cold has gripped the East Coast recently, and
New York City has taken its share of the brunt of it. But it is part of life
here. We get all four seasons in the Big Apple, and we get all of them in a big
way.
