When is a blizzard not a blizzard? When it's a bust

 
Day 27: Tuesday, March 14

The storm, such as it was, was scheduled to start sometime after midnight.
Experts (and the meteorologists on the news) were predicting up to 18 inches of snow, but I had a gut feeling that, like so many of these major weather events, this one was going to prove to be a bust. I knew there would be snow; I just didn’t think it would be more than a few inches.

Every so often, I’d get up and look out the window and see—nothing but the normal neighborhood. Finally, around 2:00 or so, I saw a dusting, but nothing that was really sticking to the pavement. The worst of the storm was supposed to hit between 2:00 am and 7:00 am, so that seemed in line with my expectations.

In my wisdom, I’d scheduled a massage at a nearby place for 11:00, so I knew I was likely to have to get up early to get there. When I did wake about, about 8:30, I looked out and it was, indeed, snowing, but—as I expected—nowhere near as bad as had been predicted. (I guess the brunt of the storm went north of the city). There was maybe four or five inches, but nothing terrible. Businesses seemed equally divided between those whose employees were already shoveling the sidewalks and those that had given them a snow day off.

I called the massage place and they were indeed open, so I took a rinse-off shower, bundled up, and headed out. I took an umbrella, and needed it a bit, but the biggest challenge was just figuring out paths to take (as I’ve walked in the days since, my calves and ankles are a little achy as they recovered from picking out safe paths). The biggest of those challenges has been corners and intersections. Because of the way the streets are plowed and traffic redistributes the snow, there are barriers at each corner, and it becomes the pedestrian’s job to figure out which if those walls are going to be solid enough to tread on (will I sink?), which is too icy, and which is actually disguising a puddle of freezing cold water.

Despite the best efforts of the weather, I made it to the salon, was greeted warmly (in more than one sense), and ended up getting a pretty good massage (especially for the money; $39 for an hour). I faced the challenge of getting home, though, I stopped at the bagel place next door while I worked out my strategy, then proceeded along the streets which were a little more shoveled. I made it back mostly intact.

I was still bumming from not being able to do the show that night, so I started forming plans about what I might do, rather than spend the evening cooped up inside. The Broadway producers had realized that, since the storm had indeed been a bust, their shows could go on. (It would have been a bonanza for anyone trying to get into really hot-ticket shows like Hamilton.) I decided to go to the theatre and see Lynn Nottage’s Sweat. It had gotten great reviews off-Broadway, so I decided to give it a go. Pidge saw that the TKTS booth had tickets for it, so I decided to head to the booth at the South Street Seaport and get one. 

That proved easier said than done. The weather conditions, though calm, were still crappy, and it was (frankly) pretty stupid to head out. I am nothing if not stubborn, though, so off I went. The sidewalks were mostly okay, but I soon ran into some unavoidable pools and my shoes, socks, and feet were soon frozen blocks of ice. I persevered, though, and made it to the booth, getting an great seat; sixth row, just off center.

I could have made it back on foot or the subway (which would still have taken a bit of walking), but I thought “I’m stupid, but not that stupid,” so I took the bus. I boarded, eventually figured out how to insert my Metrocard, and rode. It wasn’t bad, and actually saved me some time. I walked the last few blocks.

One of the other obstacles to our doing a show Tuesday was that Beth had taken our costumes to the laundromat downstairs, and they were closed, so even if we had gone on, we wouldn’t have been dressed. In the event, the laundromat did open, just late, so I decided to go down and dry my socks and shoes. After 30 minutes, they were still pretty damp, so I gave up. When it was time to go (which was soon after), I put on a fresh pair of warm, dry socks, and made it all of ten minutes before they were good and soaked, too.

 

 

I made it to the theatre, which was lightly attended, and saw the show, which was a big disappointment. I thought it was tedious didactic melodrama, with good actors doing their best with poorly-defined roles. I suppose if a person hadn’t been paying attention to how the working class in this country has been screwed over since the Reagan years, it might have been shocking, but I have, and it wasn’t.

After the show, I needed to get some kind of supper, and thought the Shake Shack on Eighth Avenue would be perfect, since the weather would keep away some of the crowds that might normally pack the place. By the time I got there, though, they had closed, so I trudged (and I use that word deliberately) through the wind and slush to Junior’s, which—being pretty much the only place open—was packed, so I sat at the bar, had a sandwich and a beer (one thing Sweat did provoke was a powerful desire for a beer, since the characters drink gallons of it). I would have had cheesecake, but the storm prevented them from getting fresh shipments, and they were out.

I thought briefly about getting a cab, but made it to the subway, and rode home in warmth. By the time I got back to my stop, the sidewalks were clearer (though it was obvious what businesses had been closed that day by the frozen pavement in front of them) and the walk a little easier (traffic had been virtually non-existent all day), so I made it home without much trouble, knowing that we’d be doing a show Wednesday.