THE PHONE RINGS. Telltale pause. Oh well, let’s see what it’s about. A clear, pleasant albeit authoritative voice comes on to share the news — that we have a SNOW EMERGENCY in St Paul. SNOW EMERGENCY! I am trying to comprehend the full meaning of this dispatch. First I imagine fire trucks, police cars, ambulances tearing and slip sliding around the city with no evident destination in mind. They pass each other going north and south on Snelling Avenue and east and west on University Avenue. The high tech Opticam sensors on the stoplights don’t know what to do (they are triggered by strobe lights on the roofs of emergency vehicles). The devices do the only thing that makes sense. Turn red for everyone. Traffic on a Sunday is backed up all the way west to the new Menards store that has had a “coming soon” sign sagging across its front for at least eight months; the parking lot jammed with cars of employees working 24-7 to stock the shelves (where will customers park when that store finally opens?).
ISN’T A SNOW EMERGENCY supposed to mean there is something happening that we have to do something about NOW? But the voice on the phone tries to calm my anxieties. There will be parking restrictions from 6 a.m. until 9:30 p.m. He doesn’t go into details. Instead he gives me a telephone number I can call to find out what I am supposed to do. I try to remember. Park my car on the north side of the street overnight while the snowplow clears the west side of the street? Keep my car off of both sides of east-west streets? For how long? Wait a minute, I know! I live on a corner. I’ll wait until I see people start parking cars on one side or the other of the two streets by my house. THEY all know what to do.