Nemo brought out the best in me — until I came home at 3 a.m. to find another car in the spot I spent four hours shoveling.
In communities throughout New Haven, neighbors have been out in force being, well, neighborly since the historic snowstorm that buried the city last weekend. Those who could took care of those who couldn’t. Folks were introducing themselves to people who’d lived a house or two away for years.
“I live in the yellow house over there,” said a woman who’d approached me about borrowing my shovel. With the assistance of others, we got her walkway shoveled. A few minutes later, she brought us bagels.
We’ve all seen flocks of birds that seem to turn en masse simultaneously. All of them. In unison. As soon as the owner of a buried car plunged his or her shovel into the tremendous pile of snow, the same fascinating phenomenon would occur. The shovel-wielding flock would fly right over to help, as if some electromagnetic communication or even “thought transference” had been involved.
I was up a bit earlier than most last Saturday morning. The man who has the snow removal contract for my condominium complex hadn’t touched it. As it turned out, we wouldn’t see him for days.
My neighbor Mike and I had about an hour’s worth of shoveling before we could even get to our cars. As the morning went on, others emerged and with looks of disbelief, dug in as well.
I think awesomeness of the storm kept me distracted enough to prevent me from becoming pissed off at having to spend all morning shoveling. Four hours later, my back was aching, but I’d cleared a walking path around my SUV. I was physically drained but somehow satisfied.
My friend’s brood of little ones were busy building an igloo, and neighborhood dogs were having the time of their life. My spirits were up. I showered and helped a few others on the block before escaping to work behind a monstrous payloader.
Before leaving, I joked with Mike about what we’d do if someone parked in the spaces we’d struggled for hours to clear.
“They’d better not,” Mike said.
“No one could be that cruel,” said Karen.
Chachi piped up, “It’s an unwritten law. You shovel it – you own it”.
I spent 17 hours at work, some of them dry in an underground Emergency Operations Center, but mostly, I was driving officers to calls around New Haven. (The NHPD has very few 4WD vehicles, so officers were trudging through waist deep snow for blocks to help people). It was an
exhausting day for me, and I can only imagine worse for the many officers, firefighters, EMTs, public works and parks department staffers who’d put in around the clock hours.
I was dreading Sunday, when I knew the hours would be as long, and this time with just a few hours of sleep in between.
Psychologically, snow may affect people who have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Studies have shown that during snowstorms people tend
to be affected by the darkness and can not produce enough serotonin to counteract the feelings of depression. Other studies discuss ions in the weather. If there are positive ions in the atmosphere, people become cranky.
I was OK. Those studies didn’t apply to me.
That is until, at just before 3 a.m., I forged down my street and spotted some other car in the spot I’d cleared.
Nemo had brought out the best in me all day. In one moment, that would disappear.
I was boiling with anger as I tried to find a spot to park, finally settling for one blocks away. But instead of just cursing the situation in my mind, I sank to a deplorable low. I went inside and got on the computer. In the largest font size I could find, I wrote a profane two-word greeting to the car’s owner, followed by a one-sentence, slightly less profane explanation. With scotch tape in hand, I returned to the car and posted my feelings on the windows.
The next day, the car was gone, and I had an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was bothered all day by what I’d done.
When I returned home, there was a note left for me. It was stern but kind. The woman who wrote it (Ann) offered to give me four hours of her time if I’d accept her help, while scolding me for the use of profanity.
Ann, I can’t undo what I’ve done, and apologize sincerely for leaving the note. The good deeds done by my neighbors all day were punctuated by my bad deed, and I’m sick over it. That’s not me.
I’ve kept your note as a reminder and am a better person for having it.