The snow whore
Snow. I miss it.
Seriously. When something you’ve known and experienced your entire life is no longer there it leaves a void that can’t be filled with anything else. Iowa City has had two major snow storms since I returned for the holidays and I’ve loved each and every minute of both. From the first stray flakes floating down from the gray cloud cover, to the relentless blowing blizzard I walked through from The Que Bar last Friday night, to the crystal clear aftermath, when the pure white has blanketed all the dirty slush and the world looks bright and fresh.
Snow means overtime and extra money for my dad, who plows the streets of the east side. It also means extra, easy money for me.
It’s not because I take advantage of people, it’s because they’re lazy as hell and they take advantage of me. The usual scene goes down like this: I’ll open the garage door all bundled in my warm clothes, like a winter warrior with boots on my feet, gloves on my hands, and a stocking hat pulled down to cover my ears. With a shovel I attack the layer of fresh snow, throwing it to the sides of the driveway or sidewalk. After about five minutes a neighbor’s garage will open and they emerge in the same bundled fashion.
The proposition – money in exchange for shoveling (makes me sound like a sort of snow whore) – would happen in one of two ways. Sometimes they’d start rescuing their buried driveway, picking diligently at the area in front of the door or around their car, and expect me to be neighborly and help. Our old neighbor on Russell did that, hoping I would walk across the street and help when I was finished at our house. I always did, of course, because I’m such a nice guy (a.k.a. “sucker”). There was no real proposition, but she always went in the house while I was working hard to clear the concrete and come back out – without her coat, hat, and mittens, so I knew she was leaving the rest to me – with a check or $10 bill. Besides our old neighbor, everyone else has enough balls to navigate the deep snow laying across the yards to ask me if I “want to make some money?”
Wow. I am a snow whore.
As a kid that’s how I made money in the winter. Lawn mowing gave me a steady income during the spring and summer, and leaf raking was both fun and profitable in the fall. The laziness of others bought my Super Nintendo and a bike, so it was no surprise yesterday when a neighbor offered, by proxy, to pitch in for a new pair of running shoes. I guess you could say it was $15 the hard way, since I was sore as hell for the rest of the day.
Seriously. When something you’ve known and experienced your entire life is no longer there it leaves a void that can’t be filled with anything else. Iowa City has had two major snow storms since I returned for the holidays and I’ve loved each and every minute of both. From the first stray flakes floating down from the gray cloud cover, to the relentless blowing blizzard I walked through from The Que Bar last Friday night, to the crystal clear aftermath, when the pure white has blanketed all the dirty slush and the world looks bright and fresh.
Snow means overtime and extra money for my dad, who plows the streets of the east side. It also means extra, easy money for me.
It’s not because I take advantage of people, it’s because they’re lazy as hell and they take advantage of me. The usual scene goes down like this: I’ll open the garage door all bundled in my warm clothes, like a winter warrior with boots on my feet, gloves on my hands, and a stocking hat pulled down to cover my ears. With a shovel I attack the layer of fresh snow, throwing it to the sides of the driveway or sidewalk. After about five minutes a neighbor’s garage will open and they emerge in the same bundled fashion.
The proposition – money in exchange for shoveling (makes me sound like a sort of snow whore) – would happen in one of two ways. Sometimes they’d start rescuing their buried driveway, picking diligently at the area in front of the door or around their car, and expect me to be neighborly and help. Our old neighbor on Russell did that, hoping I would walk across the street and help when I was finished at our house. I always did, of course, because I’m such a nice guy (a.k.a. “sucker”). There was no real proposition, but she always went in the house while I was working hard to clear the concrete and come back out – without her coat, hat, and mittens, so I knew she was leaving the rest to me – with a check or $10 bill. Besides our old neighbor, everyone else has enough balls to navigate the deep snow laying across the yards to ask me if I “want to make some money?”
Wow. I am a snow whore.
As a kid that’s how I made money in the winter. Lawn mowing gave me a steady income during the spring and summer, and leaf raking was both fun and profitable in the fall. The laziness of others bought my Super Nintendo and a bike, so it was no surprise yesterday when a neighbor offered, by proxy, to pitch in for a new pair of running shoes. I guess you could say it was $15 the hard way, since I was sore as hell for the rest of the day.
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