Snowmageddon: Running The Hamster Wheel

Hamsters are probably the most attractive of all rodents.

But they are still rodents, and for me that word has always conjured up images of short haired, pink footed creatures scurrying across my face and lining my pillow with poop nugget trails while I sleep. The only time they’re cute is when they are safely in their cages, running their little hearts out on that hamster wheel. They go round and round--never tiring of the game--as if they might actually get somewhere.

This morning I woke to the second snowstorm of the season.

It had dropped large, sticky snowflakes on branches and powerlines, weighing them down close to the four inches that had blanketed the ground overnight.

When I heard the first loud rumble, I knew that a plow was coming down my block. It passed our houses, blade angled so that all of the snow it pushed from the street was deposited in our driveways. I sighed as I stared at the area in front of my car—there was a mound of snow high enough to ski down black diamond style. The minute I thought of having to shovel it, my back started to hurt.

As I let self-pity weigh me down, some of the neighbors emerged from their warm houses, armed with snow blowers and shovels. They dove right into clearing their steps and driveways with a vengeance only known to homeowners that have braved back to back snowstorms in years past. I shook my head as I watched them toss heavy, wet piles—returning it all to the street.

The wheel was officially in motion.

My phone started beeping with alerts from angry FaceBookers complaining that their streets hadn’t been plowed. I had to wonder, in some cases were they not being cleared at all, or was the snow being put right back where it had come from?

I thought of one time I drove my kids to school after a storm. We’d had a two hour delay, and so by the time we left, most people were awake and shoveling out a path. As I was slipping and sliding along the streets, these hamsters, never looking to the right or the left, were digging straight through, flinging their piles of mush everywhere. Into my windshield. Against the side of my car. Under my tires—which were already struggling to gain traction.

On the way back, I watched as the plows came, pushing all of it into the driveways. Again.

One guy came out and threw snowballs at the plow. Pieces bounced off the back of the truck. Right into the street. He yelled and cursed and shook his fist as the huge steel beast made a beeline for a yellow stained patch next to an unsuspecting garbage can. I thought, Yep. You sure showed him.

Then the guy ran at the same dirty mounds that had now been transported from the driveway to the street and back at least three times. He flung it at us passer-bys as if we were the problem. All I could do was shake my head as the car in front of me swerved to avoid a large chunk of ice.

This guy just didn’t get it. His lawn sat on his right side, ripe for collecting the unwanted debris. It was smooth, glassy, and untouched by human hands or snowmen.

You know what they say, the wheel is turning but the hamster is dead.

CF Winn is the award-winning author of The COFFEE BREAK SERIES, a quirky group of short stories meant to be read while on break or in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. Her first novella, SUKI, has been grabbing hearts and hugging souls all over the United States.

You can now order SUKI in paperback at http://hopress-shorehousebooks.com/cf-winn/ or at BOOK REVUE, one of the nation’s largest independent bookstores, by email at info@bookrevue.com Learn more about SUKI at BOOK REVUE.

Her blogs have been syndicated on multiple sites including The Masquerade Crew. More posts like these can be found on her blog at www.simplystick.blogspot.com or at Humor Outcasts where she is a regular contributor.
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