Not Good in a (Fake) Crisis

City of Toronto Archives. Snow storm, King Street West at John Street. Photographer: Alexandra Studio 1961

Toronto has been absolutely sacked by two or three large snowfalls. 10cm of snow here or there never hurt anyone, but follow that with 20cm or more, followed by 15cm, another 20cm of snow and you will quickly bring a city like Toronto to its knees. Which, if I'm being honest, is fine with me. The first of these onslaughts had the noticeable effect of quietude. The heavy snow was like a weighted blanket that calmed the city and dampened the sound of traffic. Yet it wasn't a sweet silence but more of an eery one. Similarly, the snowpack filtered light through the skylights of the house and gave a sort of igloo effect as if the snow had actually piled up three stories high, blocking us inside. It was on days like this in my youth, that my father would essentially sound the alarm and command his sons to man a shovel and get digging. I always wondered what the rush was? When I would ask about the sense of urgency, his answer lacked what I would refer to as logic. "What if there's an emergency? We'll need to be able to get out of the driveway." he would say as if it made perfect sense. I still wondered what my father was imagining. If there was a medical emergency, how would being able to get to the end of the driveway suddenly clear many kilometres of highway to the nearest hospital? Those first few metres would be a dream of clear asphalt, but unfortunately, the following 10-15 kilometres would be passable only by snowmobile or dog team.

Thus it is, as an adult, I will often wait for the offending snow to finish falling before tackling my narrow forty feet or so of sidewalk that is my responsibility. This week led to a series of donning my finest winter gear to clear my little dominion. As an echo to my father, I shovelled not just my section of sidewalk, but also my neighbours, ensuring that I could walk unimpeded to the closest main street, Dundas. The last shovel session seemed to get the better of me. Perhaps I hadn't eaten enough. Maybe I hadn't slept enough. Maybe I was still aching from the first workout in months I'd done a couple of days before. Whatever it was, when I was only about halfway through my task I felt defeated and deflated. It was then I realized that no one should count on me for any real emergencies. My heart just isn't in it. I wondered to myself, if I found it this challenging to trudge through knee-high powder, wrestle a garden gate open to get to a shovel so I could clear a path, what would I do if lives were on the line? What if I was a part of a mountain patrol sent to find and dig out survivors of an avalanche? I imagined my pathetic reasoning to the rest of the team as my energy faded.

"Hey, guys. Did anyone bring a protein bar? A thermos of hot coffee or chocolate? One of those dogs with a lil' barrel o' brandy? No? Really? No one? How long do you think you could hold your breath? I mean, we've been out here for what? Fifteen, twenty minutes? If someone is out here, I think they might just be, I don't know like, the appropriate term, but I'd say 'goners'. With all due respect and everything. I don't mean to be macabre but we could just take a break, hit the chalet for a hot toddy, a nap by the fire maybe, and come back during the spring thaw when it'll be a whole lot easier to find these fine folks (idiots) who wandered (purposefully sought out adventure) into an avalanche zone. I'm just saying… my back isn't out here getting younger. Ha! Right? Guys? Why the angry stares?"

I'm pretty sure my performance review would reflect a dereliction of duty and a desire to lie in the snow for a quick forty winks. I was going to say I'm not good in a crisis, but I don't think that. On many occasions, when there has been a little emergency when someone was needed to step up, I have been that person. If seeing someone crash on their bike, I've stopped to help. Minor repairs required? I've got the tools. Need someone to deliver bad news? Please don't ask me, but if I have to, I will. Just now, water started gushing into my bedroom wall and I was there with a pail and towels. If there was an actual avalanche and people were at risk, I'm sure I could push through my low blood sugar and dig my heels in. However, if I'm pushed to do something for say an entirely artificial crisis, such as a deadline at work (please, what gets done will get done), or shovelling snow like a maniac because of some speculative emergency of an unknown variety, with little chance of anything happening, which may possibly occur? Count me out. I'll be warming my hands around a toasty mug and enjoying a biscuit.

Update: Apparently, Toronto has had about 53cm of snow in a week - just shy of the number about 25 years ago when Mayor Lastman asked for help from the army. That would mean this has been the hardest week of winter Toronto has had in over two decades. It also reminds me that Toronto has a really good track record of electing idiots as mayors.