Never fails – every year that I’ve worked at the Dispatch I suddenly have the urge in the middle of the winter to start tunneling through the snow mountain that sits directly between our building and the Wendy’s right across the street.
Most of the year I have a straight shot at the place but as soon as it snows they insist on piling the white stuff into a mountainous wall reminiscent of the Misty Mountain range of Middle Earth and in my quest for convenient food I feel the need to create a tunnel system that would rival the Mines of Moria.
Alas, I am not a hobbit, and I doubt there are any balrogs lurking on this side of Brainerd. I will probably never make my tunnel. Part of it is the fact that my parents drilled it into my brain that if I ever made a tunnel through snow, it was certain to collapse on me and I would die a horrible death. My parents were great like that.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try it anyway.
The other problem is lack of coworker support in my endeavor. I always try a little recruiting to the cause but, although they think it’s a fine idea, they probably won’t be bringing their shovels into work to give me a hand. I may have a convert this year in Sarah Nelson – our immigrant from California - but I suspect even if I did convince other people to take part in my scheme, the snow will start melting before we get around to actually doing something about it. Ah, well. I’m sure that will make my parents happy. Maybe next year.