During the years I’ve lived in New York, I’ve been through a few hurricanes, a snowpocalypse or two, several “biggest storm ever” and some “storms of the century”. There’s also been some inclement weather.
There’s a rhythm to these things.
1. The Geeks’ Day in the Sun. For several days, there is speculation from over-excited weathercasters who find themselves in the first 4 or 5 minutes of the news rather than at the 20-minute mark. With each passing day, the “how bad can it get” gets comically magnified, and the qualifier “depending on where it blows ashore/to the north of us, etc ” it might be nothing.
2. Hyping up the Mob over the Need to be Calm. When it becomes clear that some kind of storm will absolutely happen, public officials declare a state of emergency, and urge calm as they give doom-filled press conferences as to how dangerous this storm will be, the awful things that might happen and how difficult it will be to keep up with the needs of the citizenry during this very-possible-end-of-the-world storm during which we are to stay calm.
3. A Time of Rejoicing. The people rejoice as pre-emptive closings of businesses and schools are announced. Since Hurricane Sandy, there is a time when the trains will even be put in the garage for the night (this time, 11 pm)
4. Economic Stagnation. As the appointed time nears, offices (where not much work was getting done) begin emptying (in many cases, people never went in, just in case), several hours early. Some commuters head home, others head to have a last drink or meal together before whatever horrific predicted event takes place.
5. The Banshee. The city is mass chaos. In the dash to get home, roads are clogged. Jammed subway car after subway car passes by until there’s a square foot on one for someone to board. Grocery stores are bedlam as people grab whatever they can find – bread, milk, chips, pineapple, beer, pet food. The news is filled with sad looking people telling ever more heart-rending stories of their need to get home as the news reports travel delays as if the transportation system has never before come to a halt.
6. Settling In. As I write this, we are in the Settling In period before Winter Storm Juno (it’s a “record storm” “historic storm” “possibly one of the worst in the history of New York”). The commuters have left the city. The restaurants are full, with the quiet hum of people enjoying the last hours before the lock-in. Grocery stores quiet down, though odd sections of the store have bare shelves, there is an overflow of fresh produce gleaming at the entrance. At home, people curl up on the couch, turn on the news, to hear more about just how epic the storm will be. Shortly, an eerie calm will set in as we wait for the coming apocalypse.
7. The Jabberwock. Sometime tonight, the storm will start. Most people won’t know it happened. Until tomorrow morning, if it continues as predicted. Few people will be on the street. The city will look like wind and snow. No buildings, no streets, no people, no cars, eventually the scraping sound of snow plows on the street, even if not visible.
8. The Awakening. Eventually, the storm will end. There will be a period of absolute silence, as the city respectfully considers the storm. The streets will look white and clean for a short while, until people roust and begin tramping through the snow to clean up, locate their cars under snowplow drifts (and estimate how many days melt it will take til the car roof appears). The coming back to life takes a few hours, like the slow start of a ocean freighter leaving harbor.
9. The Party. When it’s clear the storm has stopped, the party in the streets will begin, maybe tomorrow late afternoon, maybe Wednesday morning. Cabin-fever-addled city dwellers will tromp through the streets, happy for the fresh air. The park (despite warnings against it) will begin to fill with people playing in the snow. At 3 hours after the storm, if the streets are even marginally clear, stores will begin to re-open and the hum of the city resumes, though muted.
10. The Evaluation. On Wednesday, for a day, the topic of conversation will be whether the storm was as bad as expected. How it compared to the last one. Reports of what people did during their time apart in the frozen 24 – 36 hours of time in between when they last saw each other. The mayor, the city, the governor and every other public entity is evaluated, judged and either praised or pilloried.
11. The False Hope. Friday, more snow is predicted. It will likely be a passing snow shower. Conditioned to believe a day off is at hand, city dwellers will be crushed with disappointment when everything is open as normal on Friday.
12. The Epilogue. Exhausted, hungry suburbanites with a week’s growth of beards will show up at the office on Monday, with stories of snow drifts, blocked cars, antsy kids, power outages and epic journeys back to work. City dwellers will struggle to remember the storm and whether it was all that bad or not.
In the meantime, please don’t wish me warmth or safety.
I live in a warm, beautiful, well-stocked town home across the street from Smith & Wollensky, who I presume have done their shopping.
I’d rather you tell me to enjoy the storm, or to not be an idiot, or to be kind to my fellow humans who are huddled in an ATM vestibule, subway entrance or on a church doorstep or under whatever piece of cloth they could find to cover themselves in whatever shelter they could find to wait out the weather.
It takes more than the end of the world to stop this city from chugging along.