How I Beat the Snowpocalypse

Let the transplant insults fly, but I’m originally from North Carolina.  So are a few of my friends that live here in Brooklyn.  As all of our flights were cancelled due to the snowpocalypse, and we’d already spent plenty of quality holiday time in the Tarheel state; four of us got refunds on our plane tickets, rented a car, and made the trek up the highway.  We left ungodly early and avoided the traffic until DC. The driving conditions weren’t too bad either, until Delaware.  By the time we hit the turnpike however, it was a pure shit-show.  We made it home eventually, but the Mad Max-style lawlessness that met us almost put a damper on our triumphant return.  It didn’t, but the traffic, snow, and wandering pedestrians did make unloading our luggage absurdly difficult on the unplowed streets of Southside Williamsburg. We watched the plow truck get stuck in front of us for 15 minutes, its chained tires spinning in the snow until they hit asphalt, sending sparks flying into the slush.  When we finally passed the struggling sanitation truck, repurposed to fight the blizzard, we saw the surest signs of deteriorating civilization. On S. 4th Street, it seems people have started to make ramshackle homes in the streets. In the middle of an intersection, a quite impressive igloo, topped with a flag of the Dominican Republic stands strong and proud against the bitter wind.  On my street, there is an MTA bus trapped in a snow drift with its flashers on.  The neighbors told me it has been there for three days.

I wish our readers the best. Good luck if you’re still stranded far from home sweet Williamsburg, my condolences if you’re stuck in some airport or train station, and my congrats if you’ve made it back.  Don’t let the snowpocalypse win! Have a good time, go to work, and make plans for New Year’s eve. As soon as Manhattan is taken care of, I’m sure they’ll dig us out.