I know Thursday’s snow was not much for those of us who stick to the streets and sidewalks – a mere dusting that was of course quickly cleaned up and not much trouble other than the occasional icy, wet sock – but what a nightmare it was for people trying fly.
I speak from experience on this point. Thursday afternoon was spent at Logan, hoping in vain that my flight, one of the last to be canceled, would make it into the air and carry me to DC. Flights were still leaving, although most, like mine, were scrubbed due to poor visibility.
Here’s a timeline of the experience. At 2:00 I left the office. By 4:30 my flight was canceled. At 5:30 my Amtrak train took off without me, while I was mere minutes away. By 7:00 I had gotten a rental car and was on the road to my destination. At 4:00 this morning I finally hit the rack and got a few hours of sleep before starting another day of work.
This note of obvious frustration does have a silver lining. I got where I was going without too much trouble. With the help of a few key people, including the kind gentleman at the Back Bay Amtrak desk who refunded my ticket, and my boss, who offered to pay whatever it took to get my colleagues and me to DC, I was able to arrive safely and without too much delay or expense, if completely worn out.
I assumed my boss did not mean hiring a limo, popping open some Cristal and partying with my entourage. That may have been the next choice, right before I would have had to start looking for another job. As it turned out, a new job is not yet necessary. And the entourage exists in name only.
The lesson is that even when the Snow Angel of Death craps down your back and knees you in the nut sack, others out there seem to do their best to help you out. Thanks, my fellow Bostonians, who helped me get where I needed to go and helped me believe again in the goodness of the northeast.