They predicted this winter’s first snow storm would start at 3pm today, and they were close because it was 2:15pm when the first flakes wafted down from the gray, hushed sky. I was walking to Walgreens. The traffic on the streets neared rush-hour volume; no one wanted to risk getting snarled in a snowy commute like last year’s notorious mid-day storm when everyone left their offices after the heavy snow had started. We learn from our mistakes, if we remember them.
I needed to buy Christmas cards. I considered taking the bus to Cambridge and buying fancy boxed cards at Papyrus, but that normally quick errand could potentially take hours during a snow rush. So I headed to Walgreens, admitting total defeat for this year’s Christmas card ambitions, which started so high. I planned to print photos from the wedding and send them to the appropriate guests. I planned a card that featured our wedding portrait. I planned, and planned, and then never followed through with any plans, and now there were 4 more postal service days until Christmas and my stack of unanswered Christmas cards tormented my inner etiquette-minder.
Walgreens is packed. The free-standing pharmacy with a sizable parking lot is the closest thing our town has to a big-box store, although the whole building could fit into the health and beauty section of a typical Target. People are buying milk and bread, presumably in anticipation of getting snowed into their homes for the next week. The Christmas aisle is also crowded, mostly with women picking through the gift wrap. I myself grab some tissue paper and a few festive gift bags, because there is no better opportunity to wrap presents than during a pre-Christmas snow storm.
There is a long line at the two cash registers in the front of Walgreens. The overweight woman in front of me is buying an insane amount of junk food. I scan the contents of her carriage, fascinated and repelled by her storm provisions — various bags of chips, Hostess cupcakes, two boxes of donuts, yogurt-covered pretzels, Combos, a case of generic orange soda, and numerous cans of beef stew and ravioli. I realize she is doing her grocery shopping in Walgreens. I try like hell not to judge her, because I’m buying my Christmas cards at Walgreens, and that’s a definite chink in my elitist armor.
The snow is falling in earnest as I walk home. A little gurgle of excitement bubbles in my stomach. I don’t know why I should be excited about being snowed in on a Friday night, but I guess it’s because my house is warm, my kitchen is stocked with virtuous foods like turnips and lentils, and my Christmas cards will be finished before the end of the storm.
