Thursday, January 17, 2013

Dire news coverage, check. Mad dash for supplies, double-check. One to three inches of snow may or may not hit Charlotte tonight, and the town is abuzz with chatter. I’ve even heard talk of “thundersnow,” which may either be a natural phenomenon or a lost teevee series from the ’80s. With temperatures in the high 50s this weekend, though, both snow and ice are bound for the gutter. But the excitement’s there, you know? It’s my civic duty to share in it.

I stopped by Target on my way home from work for floss–along with a multitool, shotgun shells, and flares, of course–and it was bustling. Normally, there is an odd run on items like milk and eggs during the pre-storm frenzy–all the perishables a blizzard survivor would need, obviously, to cultivate the finest mold in the aftermath. Out of pure curiosity, I stopped by the dairy section to find it fairly well-stocked, which briefly restored my faith until I drove home in the pouring rain. There, on a side street, my headlights caught a generous patch of salt, ostensibly there to season the rainwater before it hit the storm drain.

There was one genuine casualty: my umbrella. I’ve wielded this thing for years now, a relic borne from Chicago to live out its days in my driver’s side door compartment. Automatic and compact, it bore the full brunt of a gust of wind, twisting in jarring directions. Thundersnow, be thou appeased. It’s an end of an era, truly. I bought the umbrella from Sharper Image. You remember that place? It was a fixture in fancier malls, brightly lit storefronts filled with all manner of gadgets seemingly on display for people to touch, but seldom to buy. There would always be a plush massage chair, too, the crown jewel of the establishment and throne to ten-thousand butts.