January 27, 2011 by Kat Richter
Between snow days and sick days, my bank account’s not looking nearly as healthy as it once did. Nonetheless, when I brave the snow to deposit this week’s paychecks, the branch manager invites me into his office and urges me to consider upgrading my free checking account.
“With your assets, you’re eligible for a Crown account.”
“What’s the benefit of a Crown account?” I ask, eying the handsome loan officer in the next cubicle.
“A free safe deposit box, free checks, free…”
But I’m not really listening. I’m too hung up on the man behind the class partition to consider any serious financial maneuvering (and yes, upgrading my account comprises serious financial maneuvering in my book. I’m still recovering from the process of opening an account in the UK three years ago and am already dreading Wachovia’s switch to Wells Fargo. I’ll have to think of a new password for my online banking and register a new debit card when the time comes.)
I thank the man for his advice and tell him I’ll think about it, but what I’m really thinking is “I wonder if loan officers are allowed to step out for a quick coffee on snow days?” Maybe I could offer to buy him a coffee, or maybe I can just help myself to one of the lollipops the bank keeps on hand for its younger clientele and engage in some sort of sexy lollipop maneuvering as I make my way past his desk, thereby prompting him to ask me for a coffee?
Thankfully I manage to get a grip before I make a complete fool of myself, but as the snow continues to fall, I find myself getting more and more desperate by the hour.
Take yesterday: the schools closed early due the snow and my evening classes were cancelled. “Great!” I thought. “I’ll have an entire afternoon to write, and finish packing for my trip to Miami and figure out which dress to wear for the maiden voyage of my new Carlos Santana heels.”
(Yes, I’m going to Miami for the weekend. Yes, I’m bringing six pairs of shoes. Yes, this three times as many shoes as nights I’ll be in Florida and yes, I think this is perfectly acceptable.)
I had great intentions—I started the new year with all sorts of serious goals for myself, and a brand new laminated wall calendar to shame myself into greater productivity whenever I fall behind—but then, as usual, I find myself getting distracted.
“I’ll just pop onto Facebook for a quick sec,” I decide. I’ve been getting better about embracing the single life and trying to cultivate my own happiness and all that jazz but when it snows, all rational thoughts fly out the window. In the time it takes me make myself a cup of hot chocolate, I go from ecstatic (I’m worse than a five year old when it comes to snow days and call the School District’s hotline on an hourly basis until the superintendent makes the call) to depressed, and in the time it takes me to spike that hot chocolate with a shot of Bailey’s, I’ve gone from depressed to angry.
Snow days aren’t meant to be spent alone, writing. Snow days are meant to be spent shoving snowballs down the back of your beloved or cuddling up with two cups of hot chocolate. I consider making myself a second cup just for appearance’s sake but instead I decide to send a quick Facebook message to my special Norwegian “friend.” Though it’s just after noon in Philadelphia, it’s nearly 7:00pm in Trondheim. This gives us an hour to whine about our love lives and reminisce about my visit to Trondheim (which occurred nearly two years ago) before he excuses himself to go the gym.
Feeling rather ashamed of myself, I head upstairs and position my laptop on my desk. It is time to get serious, and for three hours, I am serious. I write nearly 3,000 words including a rather decent query letter, but then I take a quick glance out the window, where nearly a foot of snow has fallen, and all hell breaks loose.
In less than half an hour, I manage to fire off messages to three different men—three men I’ve already dated and have already stopped dating—simply because it seems absolutely criminal to be spending a snow day without some sort of male interaction.
Eventually, I return to my computer and crank out what seems like a beautiful and poignant love story (but everything seems beautiful and poignant when you’ve been drinking Bailey’s all afternoon).
Just before 2:00am, I call it quits and crawl into bed, cold and alone. Somehow, snow days aren’t nearly as exciting as they were when I was child, or when I had a boyfriend.