I live in Nashville, and I’ll be the first to admit that a lot of people in this town turn into complete morons whenever we hear rumors that we might be getting flurries. Yes, the chance for flurries make some of us really nervous and compulsive. As soon as our weather people start talking about flurries like its frozen acid, a lot of us start to get urges to go grocery shopping, just to beat the mass rush. We buy bread. We buy toilet paper. We buy frozen pizzas, twinkles, and potato chips. After trips to the grocery store, some of us run out to purchase new snow shovels and bags of salt not because we need them but because we’ve misplaced the shovel and salt we bought the last time Old Man Winter put his creepy cold hand on our thigh. And then we come home, sit on our couches, eat our chips, and we watch The Weather Channel until we feel Winter’s fingers moving up our leg.
Of course, usually the rumors turn out to be really cold rain.
But the reasons why we go through the same theatrics each and every time even though the majority of the snow storms never come is because, just like most us believe that hand holding leads to babies, we’ve learned from experience that flurries lead to 25 car pileups. Old Man Winter isn’t just a dirty old bastard to us Nashvillians, but rather he’s a peeping Tom who stands outside our window and watches us watching the Weather Channel and laughs. And sometimes he comes he comes inside and chases us around the house with a steak knife. Which is why we embrace fully the fear that a snow storm eventually kills, because in Nashville, it’s true. Flurries kill.
Snow kills drivers on our highways. It kills our kids’s chances of going to school for days. It kills our plans of going to the Apple Store at the Green Hills Mall. Snow kills everything eventually. And we’re afraid of it.
But our fear and loathing of snow is nothing compared to what we feel when Old Man Winter lays a thin layer of ice on our city. I mean, you people who live in places like Wisconsin, Massachusetts, and Canada laugh at us because 3 inches of snow shuts our city down for at least 3 days plus or minus 2. And maybe, when it comes to snow, your jokes are warranted. I mean the last time 4 inches of snow hit our town, it was like an apocalypse! There were more cars in ditches than there were on the road. Because we’re terrible drivers on dry land, we turn into serial killers when it snows. And it’s true, most of you could maneuver around this town in 3 inches of snow with the ease of John Maher visiting an STD clinic.
But what if that inch of snow were ice? Because that’s what Nashville got slammed with yesterday–an inch or so of ice! Yes, ice. Like seriously, Nancy Kerrigan could lace up and go out on any one of our side streets and perform a double axel. Well technically, Nancy could never really do a double axel. But you know what I mean. It’s ice–a thick layer of ice. Ice that you slip and slide on. It’s great for sledding but unless your Santa with a sleigh, getting around on it in a car isn’t easy whether you’re from Nashville or the Tundra.
Yesterday, more than 200 hundred accidents happened around Nashville. It would have been even worse had it snowed rather than sleeted–because more of Nashville’s morons would have ventured out onto the roads in the snow. Go ahead and poke fun at us for acting like Justin Bieber on Instagram whenever it snows. Because honestly, it’s sort of pathetic.
But ice storms are completely different! That’s what we tell ourselves anyway, that not even an Eskimo would be able to drive his or her minivan around on ice. And if that’s not true, don’t tell us, ok?! Because deep down we’re ashamed of how we act in snow but we believer that how we act on ice is how anybody would act on ice. Why? Because Old Man Winter is a stalker! He’s Kevin Bacon in River Wild. He’s Nicole Kidman during every live interview. He puts ice on our roads! And for 72 hours, he murders our hopes and dreams and belittles our egos.
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Buy Jessica Turner’s book, The Fringe Hours: Making Time For You!
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