on ice

The snow that has all but crippled the Northeast has single handedly shut down schools, delayed the mail, and has caused otherwise profit seeking enterprises to put profits on hold…albeit for the short term.

There is no better evidence of this than the fact that all the local malls in the area delayed opening their doors last week by a full two hours. Two hours that forced all the ‘mall walking’ senior citizens to delay their morning routine, have a second bowl of fiber chocked cereal, and then find greener pastures on which to tread.

For me, however, the snow has caused headaches beyond lack of early bird shopping and walking. Because, due to the multiple inches of snow covering the highways, all of my sales calls for the past two weeks cancelled. And while it’s true that this lack of sales calls most certainly indicates a lack of sales, this was not my main grievance. Rather, this lack of appointments outside of the office meant that I was forced to stay inside the office.

An office with no windows. An office which has been serving as a Petri dish of viral growth for the past few months. An office that is drab, dingy, and depressing.

I relish setting sales calls because of the opportunity it provides to escape this otherwise miserable dungeon in which we store items to sell to companies...companies with amenities such as natural lighting and coffee that doesn’t closely resemble tepid sludge.

So when a company in an adjacent town actually kept the appointment we had previously set, I was in my car and down the road in a flash...fleeting goodbyes as I raced out the door, a trail of papers fluttering in my wake.

It was late morning as I pulled alongside a parking meter across the street from the small company I was heading into. I gathered my brochures and catalogs, slung my laptop over my shoulder, and grabbed my samples from the backseat. After carefully balancing everything with exact precision, much like a skilled waiter does when delivering eight drinks to a large table of diners, I headed across the street to the main entrance.

I had crossed the street and stepped over the curb when my foot fell upon a rather large patch of ice. What happened next was exactly what you would expect to happen when someone loaded down with multiple bags, briefcases, and papers steps onto an immense continent sized patch of ice…the result looking very much like something out of a Three Stooges movie, minus two stooges, of course.

My legs flew out from under me, the weight of my laptop wrenched my left shoulder, the samples and brochures which had previously been so carefully balanced went sprawling across the sidewalk, and I went down in a flourish, ripping a hole in the knee of my slacks as I landed.

As I lay flat on my back, I turned my head and noticed a miniature pair of Keds directly in front of me. Gazing upwards, I saw a small five year old child staring down at me, her mouth wide open with what I like to image was awe at my spectacular Olympian display of clumsiness.

Wanting to use this embarrassing predicament to impart some type of wisdom that I had gained from years of experience, I said, “Boy, this ice sure is slickery.”

Not 'slick', not 'slippery', but ‘slickery’. Not only did I fail to impart something deep and substantial, I didn’t even use the proper English.

I struggled to stand up, back aching and shoulder throbbing, quickly gathered what I could, and trudged off to my car.

And as I sit here, I can't help but think that I'm single-handedly corrupting the youth of today...one make-believe word at a time.