The doorbell rang at 9:30 last night. Unusual at my house any time of year but with waist high snow drifts on my front porch and an outside temperature of 17 degrees, the ding-dong was a little scary. All the cats went on full alert and scrambled for a dark place to hide. This can't be good I think. I cautiously crack open the front door to see four men standing in my yard in deep snow. All are wearing coveralls with a camouflage pattern. What the hell is this? A raiding party going from house to house, raping and plundering, stealing food and ammo? C'mon, we've only been snowed in for what, two days? Is the situation that desperate already?
"Shovel your drive Mister?" the youngest and most innocent looking of the bunch asked.
The men weren't carrying any guns that I could see but they weren't carrying any shovels either. I thought of calling 911 but knowing the cops couldn't get to my house anyway, I played along.
"How much? I ask.
The young hoodlum gave me a price, an outrageous price I might add, but one that I had to consider. My driveway from street to garage is probably forty-five, maybe fifty feet long and steep. I can usually get down it in most conditions, no problem, it's the getting back up that's the bitch. Then there was the matter of my poor old aching back. And the heart attack factor, don't forget that.
I countered with a lower price and we met in the middle. The men vanished into the darkness only to reappear minutes later with two all terrain vehicles--perfectly suited to elude police by charging through thick woods--but these had snow blades mounted on the back. Fifteen minutes later no mo snow.
Thanks to these enterprising young men, it is now possible to take my vehicle to the end of the driveway and back. The street, you see, is still ass deep in white stuff.