Joe McQuaid's Publisher's Notebook: Frustrations aside, my thanks, plow guys
As much as I liked last week's story of the old guy who got into a tangle with the snowplow man concerning his blocked driveway in Merrimack, my sympathies are with the plow guys.
I will admit that at least once this winter I have halted my shoveling in order to shake my fist and yell to the cold, night skies, "Mayor Gatsas, tear down this wall!"
That would be on account of the Berlin-like wall of snow, with the consistency of granite, that was blocking my entrance (and exit the next morning) to my driveway after a recent storm.
What was the name of that storm, by the way? I think it might have been "Dave." Some bright bulb in the weather department has started naming snow storms as if they were hurricanes. This is all silliness and is yet another attempt to pump up the weather news ratings on TV.
I hope it is killed in its crib. If not, I forecast that one day soon we will have names for everyday weather.
"Stormwatch Zero interrupts your regularly-scheduled boredom to bring you this weather bulletin. Tomorrow's weather has been officially named Bambi. Bambi is expected to bring partly-cloudy skies and a slight breeze. She is also packing a six on the UV sun index."
But I digress.
Back to the snowplows, I was coming home from work the other night, anticipating another Great Wall, when I had to stop for a city plow. It was backing up and then carving out, as best it could, a huge snow bank blocking a corner of a busy intersection.
But I didn't curse the plow. Instead, I thought to myself, here it is after 7 p.m., and I'm going home to a nice, warm house and to a splendid dinner made by the Lady of the Little House. And the guys in this big, winged plowtruck have probably been out doing their work for a lot of hours and were probably doing it yesterday and last night and will be doing it long into this night and back at it tomorrow.
If they carefully raised their plows in front of every driveway, it would be nice. But they would be taking twice as long to plow the streets and I might be relying on shank's mare to get home.
So suck it up, McQuaid, I thought to myself. I waited for the plow to finish its carving and then drove on. I was tempted to stop to tell the driver thanks for his work, but that would have just slowed him down, and possibly startled him. So I'll say it now. Thanks, guys. Keep up the good work.
Write to Joe McQuaid at Publisher@UnionLeader.com or on Twitter at @Deucecrew