Snowpocalypse Odyssey
Unlike many of my fellow humans who either have more sense or work for companies that allow telecommuting on a regular basis, I had to schlep through the weather today to get to the office. My compromise was that I would get in early, crank out a few things and get the hell out at lunchtime. So it was that I got to experience several NYC landmark-type areas in various states of Snowmageddon.
7:25am: Crossed the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. Roadway clear, however neither Coney Island to the right nor Manhattan and North Jersey to the left were visible. In fact, it was as though we were traveling through a vaguely defined grey tunnel.
7:55am: Arrived in midtown, right between Rockefeller Center and Times Square. Grey slush lines the curbs, crews work feverishly to keep the plazas and walkways in front of their buildings clear. I almost collide with a small John Deere sidewalk plow when it stops abruptly in front of me as I hurry into my building. Worth noting: coffee cart guy did not make it in, went to backup coffee cart guy one block north.
8am-12noon: indoors. Office temperature 72 degrees. The under dressed anorexic female types must have stayed home today as the thermostat in my area has not been cranked up. Good. Checked out the window at 11am, the sky was the purplish color of early evening, snow still coming down and actually accumulating in the streets of Times Square. The soundtrack of the morning is Ken's show.
12:15pm : Hit the street. Snow has slowed, sidewalks are mostly clear of both snow and pedestrians. I stop for a minute and marvel at how empty Times Square is before descending the subway stairs. Or rather, how empty of pedestrians it is. There are, oddly enough, the usual amount of vehicles making their way downtown. The streets are mostly slush now, the snow is too slow to accumulate under the traffic.
12:45pm: Arrive at the Staten Island Ferry Whitehall Terminal. The snow is harder now, three large men are working shovels and salt spreaders to keep the plaza in front of the terminal entrance clear. Upstairs is, surprisingly, not a lot more populated than normal for a midday ferry. The benches furthest from the doors to slip one do have a few more bedraggled-looking, presumably homeless men than normal. None of the poor-looking folks are women. The cops leave them alone, showing mercy in this weather. The bums aren't bothering anyone so nobody bothers them. One guy has one of hose booties they give you when you're wearing a cast. His foot is wrapped in filthy cloth. I wonder if the foot will survive the winter. Then the boat arrives, surprisingly on schedule at 1pm. It looks like a nautical carrot cake coated in caster sugar. I board, wait on line to buy a bagel at the snack bar behind two more bedraggled-looking souls who are waiting to buy beer. Actually, one of them is finishing off a Bud tall boy as he waits. The guy in front orders two Buds and a cup of ice, the cashier mishears him and tries to give him a Beck's and he souse yells "Bud, not Ballantine!" revealing his age and knowledge of suds that come in green cans. The second drunk orders a Bud and "a pretzel, gimme the one with the most salt on it, I wanna lotta salt." Finally I get my bagel and instinctively head to the lower deck where my only companions are three well-bundled blue collar-looking gents who are sleeping (early-shift construction workers?) and one late-twenties-early thirties office worker looking time snickering at her smartphone. Normally this would be where I crack a beer but it's Wednesday afternoon and not Friday night so instead I chew on my bagel, drink water and marvel at the fact that yes, I can still see the outline of Governor's Island through the storm. After that nothing, no Brooklyn, no V-N bridge, zip until the St. George slips come vaguely into view, clear as that scrambled porn you tried to watch on somebody's WHT box back in 1980.
Statue of Liberty? Sorry, I was on the wrong side of the boat for that. I imagine it wasn't visible either given the typical distance of the ferry's passing.
1:31pm: Boat docks, as I leave a guy carrying a snow shovel yells "GODDAMIT I GOTTA GET ON THE BOAT, AW FUCK THIS!" and throws the shovel down. I'm guessing he was a worker having a dispute with security or a co-worker. It seems unlikely that a Manhattanite would take public transit to Staten Island to buy a snow shovel. Right? I board the train and notice that I'm one of the few people who look like they're coming from an office job. I guess I work for one of the few companies that still frowns on telecommuting.
1:48: De-train at my stop. The show is wet and stinging and the walk home is a bit slippery. I pass a guy who lives in a duplex, he has about eight feet of sidewalk to shovel, stairs up to the front door and one of those horrible below-ground driveways. How's he coping? He has one of those ride-on sidewalk plows not unlike the John Deere that I nearly collided with this morning. He slowly backed down his driveway revved the motor and blasted to the top moving a small mound of snow. I shake my head as he backs down the driveway again. I continue to slowly make my way along the mostly unshoveled sidewalks and arrive in time to help the Mrs. shovel. The wind rises and wet snow and ice chunks become dislodged from the trees and wires and begin to pelt us. It hurts, and not a little. We finish up quickly and hurry inside.
So endeth my journey.
What, you wanted pictures?
7:25am: Crossed the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. Roadway clear, however neither Coney Island to the right nor Manhattan and North Jersey to the left were visible. In fact, it was as though we were traveling through a vaguely defined grey tunnel.
7:55am: Arrived in midtown, right between Rockefeller Center and Times Square. Grey slush lines the curbs, crews work feverishly to keep the plazas and walkways in front of their buildings clear. I almost collide with a small John Deere sidewalk plow when it stops abruptly in front of me as I hurry into my building. Worth noting: coffee cart guy did not make it in, went to backup coffee cart guy one block north.
8am-12noon: indoors. Office temperature 72 degrees. The under dressed anorexic female types must have stayed home today as the thermostat in my area has not been cranked up. Good. Checked out the window at 11am, the sky was the purplish color of early evening, snow still coming down and actually accumulating in the streets of Times Square. The soundtrack of the morning is Ken's show.
12:15pm : Hit the street. Snow has slowed, sidewalks are mostly clear of both snow and pedestrians. I stop for a minute and marvel at how empty Times Square is before descending the subway stairs. Or rather, how empty of pedestrians it is. There are, oddly enough, the usual amount of vehicles making their way downtown. The streets are mostly slush now, the snow is too slow to accumulate under the traffic.
12:45pm: Arrive at the Staten Island Ferry Whitehall Terminal. The snow is harder now, three large men are working shovels and salt spreaders to keep the plaza in front of the terminal entrance clear. Upstairs is, surprisingly, not a lot more populated than normal for a midday ferry. The benches furthest from the doors to slip one do have a few more bedraggled-looking, presumably homeless men than normal. None of the poor-looking folks are women. The cops leave them alone, showing mercy in this weather. The bums aren't bothering anyone so nobody bothers them. One guy has one of hose booties they give you when you're wearing a cast. His foot is wrapped in filthy cloth. I wonder if the foot will survive the winter. Then the boat arrives, surprisingly on schedule at 1pm. It looks like a nautical carrot cake coated in caster sugar. I board, wait on line to buy a bagel at the snack bar behind two more bedraggled-looking souls who are waiting to buy beer. Actually, one of them is finishing off a Bud tall boy as he waits. The guy in front orders two Buds and a cup of ice, the cashier mishears him and tries to give him a Beck's and he souse yells "Bud, not Ballantine!" revealing his age and knowledge of suds that come in green cans. The second drunk orders a Bud and "a pretzel, gimme the one with the most salt on it, I wanna lotta salt." Finally I get my bagel and instinctively head to the lower deck where my only companions are three well-bundled blue collar-looking gents who are sleeping (early-shift construction workers?) and one late-twenties-early thirties office worker looking time snickering at her smartphone. Normally this would be where I crack a beer but it's Wednesday afternoon and not Friday night so instead I chew on my bagel, drink water and marvel at the fact that yes, I can still see the outline of Governor's Island through the storm. After that nothing, no Brooklyn, no V-N bridge, zip until the St. George slips come vaguely into view, clear as that scrambled porn you tried to watch on somebody's WHT box back in 1980.
Statue of Liberty? Sorry, I was on the wrong side of the boat for that. I imagine it wasn't visible either given the typical distance of the ferry's passing.
1:31pm: Boat docks, as I leave a guy carrying a snow shovel yells "GODDAMIT I GOTTA GET ON THE BOAT, AW FUCK THIS!" and throws the shovel down. I'm guessing he was a worker having a dispute with security or a co-worker. It seems unlikely that a Manhattanite would take public transit to Staten Island to buy a snow shovel. Right? I board the train and notice that I'm one of the few people who look like they're coming from an office job. I guess I work for one of the few companies that still frowns on telecommuting.
1:48: De-train at my stop. The show is wet and stinging and the walk home is a bit slippery. I pass a guy who lives in a duplex, he has about eight feet of sidewalk to shovel, stairs up to the front door and one of those horrible below-ground driveways. How's he coping? He has one of those ride-on sidewalk plows not unlike the John Deere that I nearly collided with this morning. He slowly backed down his driveway revved the motor and blasted to the top moving a small mound of snow. I shake my head as he backs down the driveway again. I continue to slowly make my way along the mostly unshoveled sidewalks and arrive in time to help the Mrs. shovel. The wind rises and wet snow and ice chunks become dislodged from the trees and wires and begin to pelt us. It hurts, and not a little. We finish up quickly and hurry inside.
So endeth my journey.
What, you wanted pictures?
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