Ah, the apocryphal snow day. You know, the snow day that sent Calvin barreling down the hill after Hobbes, the day made of angels and cocoa and wet wool, in which the sky cracked opened its jaws and the rest of the world -finally- shut up.
That particular snow day hasn't been real in a while. Snow these days pretty much means you'll spend twice as long as normal creeping along the roads toward work in your metal death box. You'll get neck cramps from clutching the steering wheel, back spasms from scraping the ice off your windshield, and eyestrain from peering through the sleet. After the storm passes, you get to drive home and shovel your sidewalk.
Except in Virginia!
When I awoke up this morning at the relaxed hour of 7 AM, a winter storm warning was in full swing. 3-6 inches were forecast. In preparation, the entire city had shut down.
As a lifelong midwesterner, I find this bemusing. I routinely drove through six-, seven-, and nine-inch snowfalls to reach a workplace that opened punctually and without fuss. The only time I recall so much as a two-hour delay was when a foot and a half of the white stuff appeared overnight. In VA, the schools appear to have pre-emptively folded up their tents for a sixth of that.
At some level, it's irritating. I can't go in to work; ergo, I don't get paid. On the other hand, the neighborhood kids are out in droves. The cocoa is brewing. The snow is shawling down and the world is on its way to white.