The Perfect Job for a Snow Day

It snowed last night. Thick, heavy flakes had covered the world in a pristine white blanket that put the duvet on my bed to shame. The blizzard had been far worse than any weather report had predicted, and the country had, as always, been caught totally by surprise. Every news headline echoed the same story – all roads were blocked, all trains were at a standstill, and flights had been grounded. No one was going anywhere. No one should try to travel, except in cases of emergency. The usual drill. But, and they were quick to highlight the glimmer of hope, temperatures were set to heat up by the afternoon. The snow would not last.

             Sipping my coffee, I tried to decide whether to be pleased or disappointed. No one was going anywhere, so surely that put an end to my plans for the day?

             John had other ideas.

             My phone rang midmorning. Peals of ‘The Great Escape’ theme song echoed through the house, forcing me to run from my cosy nest on the couch to find it.

“Pat, we’re still on. Meeting as planned after lunch.” John’s voice reignited my excitement for the day, enough so I could forgive him for forgetting an actual greeting.

        “And how do you expect us to get out again?” I asked.

             I swear I could hear his grin over the phone. “Trust me, Pat, I’ve got it covered.”

             So that was that.

             I left home soon after, armed with beanie, gloves and mask to hold off the cold. A pair of old hiking boots – the survivor of many terrestrial wars – clad my feet, all the better to fight my way through the calf-deep drifts along the pavement. My new backpack – ten-litre capacity no less – hung lightly from my back, ready to hold the profits of my trip to town.

             The walk was long and hard, but the coffee I bought halfway, and the subsequent caffeine burst, did its job. Closer to town, the snowdrifts grew thinner, and the walking easier. If only it wasn’t all uphill.

             Town itself was busy, although you wouldn’t think it at first. People dodged in and out of buildings, hopping from shop to shop with scarves wound tight and coats held close against the cold. No one wanted to be outside in this weather – the sun may be doing its best to ease the white winter wasteland, but the cold damp air was enough to drive anyone inside.

             My only stop was the bank. I paused just outside, removing the glove from one hand so I could dial John.

“You nearly here? I’m about to go in.”

“Five minutes. Ten tops.”

I rolled my eyes and suppressed the curse. “If you’re late, John, I swear to God-”

“Relax, Pat, I’ll be there. You just worry about your job, and I’ll worry about mine. You’re going to be impressed.”

I glared at the phone as I hung up, not appreciating the smugness I heard there. Still, he was right. I did have a job to do.

I adjusted my mask and beanie, pulled up my gloves, and went in.

             The bright, shining surfaces of the marble counters of the bank were a beautiful sight, and the blast of warmth that hit me as I passed through the doors was welcome after the frigid air outside. It didn’t take long for me to get the attention of the clerk and, I must say, the service was impeccable. No one smiled, but that’s winter for you, huh? Still, I was seen to straight away, and the clerk did everything I asked very professionally. I don’t know, perhaps it was the mask? They’re very fashionable at the moment, after all. I was most impressed by his respectfulness, and so religious. I swear I heard him muttering prayers under his breath.

             I was in and out in fifteen minutes. A little longer than planned, but one of the security guards got a little ambitious. I mean, whatever happened to the customer is always right? Oh well, if the job were to go perfectly every time, it would get boring. It’s better to be kept on my toes.

             John, thank God, was waiting for me as I left. He stood, legs planted wide and arms crossed, with a massive grin spread wide across his face. With the massive hood that cast the rest of his features into shadow, he looked like some deranged demon. 

I glanced around, looking for the car. Nothing to see that wasn’t covered in snow. Nothing except… Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

“A sledge?” I asked, fighting the urge to whack him, “Really? That’s your transport?”

“Isn’t it brilliant?” John said, “Just like old times.” He stepped forward and took the bag from my back. Reverently, he placed it near the front of the sledge, being careful not to jostle it too much. Full to bursting, it was worth its weight in gold.

“Get in, Pat,” he said. “It’s downhill for the better part of two miles. By the time the cops figure it out, we’ll be long gone.”

I sighed, but I got in.

Behind me, John set his hands against the sides of the sledge and started pushing. For a moment, I forgot about the bank and the guard and the gold. Deja vu gripped me. Our last time sledging to together had been on this very road, on a day far simpler than this one. How fitting that this should be where we tried again.

 Just as the sledge started to gain its own momentum, John jumped and swung himself in behind me, sending the sledge rocking wildly. With rusty skills half-remembered, I leaned forward and reached for the sides, steadying it.

“You haven’t lost the knack,” I said, smiling at the memory of winters long ago.

“Course not. Once a champion sledger, always a champion sledger,” he said.

We leant together, steering the sledge past houses that were blurring as we picked up speed. In places, brown and black merged with the white ground and tarmac and mud fought to gain control in the warming sun.

“You know the best part of our transport?” John asked, reaching a hand to pat the bag secured between my knees.

“The snow will be gone by dinner?” I said, smiling. No snow, no tracks, no cops.

“The snow will be gone by dinner.”