One thing missing from the picture, however, is a little touch of Canadian spirit. It was there last year, and this year I was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of it being bravely installed this year. It would appear that each year, when it is suspected that this man-made snow mountain has reached its peak, one lone soul will climb to its pinnacle, armed with a flag to proudly claim the spectacle's nationality. And so, I watched a safety-vested (sans harness though) mountaineer scale the artificial cliffs to plant a Canadian flag atop the snow-capped, well, snow. I've looked for it every day as I drive by and it's still flying proudly.
...
Another sight I've encountered along my drive home--this one during the hours-long traffic-jammed snow-day drives--is a lone animal, frolicking alongside the hundreds of stuck cars along the highway. There's a patch of empty space on my way to the highway. It's bordered by the highway itself, and the curvature of the on-ramp I traverse daily. Loosely the size of an elongated baseball diamond, it's a barren piece of land that's completely snowcovered at the moment. All alone, this dog or wolf or something of the like is king of this domain. Both times I've seen him now, he was frolicking through the snow, leaping and bounding at something unseen.
The first time I saw him, I thought that the traffic had been so bad that his owner had pulled the car over (because there was a car on the shoulder that day) to let his dog out for a break. You'd never seen a puppy more playful. The second time he caught my attention I realized that he hadn't belonged to anyone in a car, but was there of his own accord. I spent my inching-along daydreamily musing to myself about the solitary but wild life he must live; playing with the imaginary, fending for himself, being the lone wolf he probably wasn't born to be.
The third incident that I encountered him in wasn't a visual one, it was a audio one.
"Oh! Guess what I saw on my way home today along the highway? A wolf or a fox or something stuck in the snow!"
"Oh him! I've noticed him a couple of times now. I guess he's there pretty regularly. He's so playful, always leaping around in the snow."
"Oh no. When I saw him, he looked cold and miserable! I called animal control to go get him!"
"Oh."
So much for visions of the wild life.
...
One thing I pride myself on as a female is my independence from all things damsel-in-distress. While I have a bum wrist, yes, I have to sometimes turn to others (sometimes male) to help me staple things or open jars. But as for the other, "manly" things, I can still manage those on my own. Take my TV, for instance, I did all the hooking up by myself--speakers, cable and all.
Another classic example was set forth today: jump-starting someone else's battery. At the end of the work day today, I was asked if I could help boost someone's car. Of course, being the great comrade I am, I obliged. After donning my coat and grabbing my keys, I got outside of the office to find 4 guys and a girl, already at it. It was a poor Honda Civic that had lost its juice, and the girl had pulled up her Nissan 350Z alongside of it to try to lend the much needed boost.
She'd popped the hood, and all the men were crowded around, debating on which node was positive, which was negative, and how to attach the booster cables (okay, they had weird clips on the ends, but still). I watched for 10 minutes and 2 unsuccessful attempts before I strode off to my car to pull it to the other side of the Civic, mounting the curb a la emergency rescue vehicle style.
I pulled out my longer, more practical jumper cables, popped my hood, and had that little Civic running in 45 seconds flat. *sigh*
And that wasn't the first time I'd done such a deed at the office. The last time had been for one of the more senior staff when his rental car died. Again, I authoritatively drove on over and hauled out the ever-reliable jumper cables. Only this time, Senior Staff had tried to help.
"Black to black, red to red!!!"
"It doesn't matter which colours go to which, as long as they're the same."
"It DOES matter when I've already got MINE hooked up!"
"Oh...I guess you'd better do it then."
Damn right I did it. Why is it of all the drivers in the office, I'm the only one with a set of cables who not only can JUMP the cars, but can do it always level-headedly?
...
Finally, a few weeks back, I found myself with a hopelessly flat tire. I had just arrived to pick up my passenger when we decided it was irreparable by extra inflation ("that's rubber on rim!"). Initial attempts at removing the damn spare tire cover failed due to it being so cold it was frozen in place--any attempts to coax it off were resulting in tears to the case. Caught between a rock and a hard place (we needed to be somewhere), a call to CAA was placed; he was convinced we were stuck. While my caller was on hold, and then having a deflating-sounding conversation, I made my decision.
I am GOING to change this tire.
And so I did. I donned my mitts and went at the tire cover with new-found ambition. I half-pried, half-tore at that thing, until it came off piece by piece. Cover off, I started wrenching the lug-nuts loose and before long, I had the spare ready to mount. My previously defeated passenger had returned by then to deliver the news that there was no CAA to come, but instead stared in wonderment at my progress.
He helped me dismantle my trunk ("I have a table back here?") in search of the car jack, and when we came upon the place it was said to be (according to the car manual), tried to pull it out of its place.
"I don't even know if they gave you a jack!"
"Sure they did. They had to have!"
"Ugh. Then it's stuck."
Defeated anew, he turned away. I conferred with my manual.
Twist the jack counter-clockwise, then lift straight upwards to remove it.
*Twist* *Lift*
"Got it."
And so, I let him do the rest. I felt I'd done enough of the man-work by then. Back in the car, back in business, and nearly home by then, my passenger turned to me with a question.
"I was really impressed that you got the tire cover off. I have to ask--how did you do that?"
"Honestly--and while I'm a great story-teller and all, I'm not saying this for dramatic effect; it's the truth--sheer determination. I said I was going to change the tire, and I did it."
"Huh."
...
Leave it to a woman. And just for the record, I didn't have to consult the manual to find out how to change a flat tire--I've known how to do that for a long while now--I consulted it to find out where all of my tire-changing tools were. It's a good tip: every car is different, so rather than floundering around trying to guess where all of this stuff might be stored, just take a second to read. It's a good way to distract yourself and keep level-headed too--I speak from experience.
...
Finally finally, a line (not my own) to describe a male who could not change his own flat tire, who probably didn't consult his manual to find his tools, and who had to be rescued not by someone else, but by someone else's roadside assistance:
"A moronic brainwave of historical propotions."
I only wish I could claim authorship. :)
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