The plow man cometh

To any snow plow drivers that read this, please understand that it is entirely tongue-in-cheek. - KL

I think you must have a certain level of cruelty inherent in your nature to become a municipal snow plow driver. I'm guessing they have a test that you have to pass. Maybe you kick puppies or something.

I say this because every time I have to excavate my mailbox or tear down the wall that separates my driveway from the wider world, I can only imagine it was done on purpose and with a feeling of glee. Maybe it's a character flaw on my part, but I can't imagine anyone creating a mess like that without knowing exactly what they're doing and secretly reveling in it.

I can picture the childlike grin on the plow driver's face who had to come in at an angle, multiple times, to create the wall of snow that stood several feet high on my corner this morning. The T-intersection was well cleared, don't get me wrong, but all the snow that used to be clogging the street was pushed onto my corner. Not my retired-neighbor-with-a-snow-blower's corner. Not the straight stretch at the top of the T along the far side. Nope. My corner. The one where the neighborhood's children wait for the bus. That I feel obligated to clear immediately, before any children are forced to stand in snow, despite the fact that I have a 48 hour grace period authorized by the city.

Maybe I've done something to offend the driver. Maybe I parked my truck on the odd side of the street on an even-numbered day on the calendar. It's possible. I'm not completely calendar-aware. I'm not 100 percent sure what today's date is, so this could be the answer.

So I ask for forgiveness, Mr. or Ms. Plow Driver, and urge you to share the wealth that your giant steel blade provides. Especially with my snow-blower-equipped neighbors. They are significantly better prepared than I.

And, if that's too much to ask, I hope you step in a puddle.

' Kristian Leitzen is a Cedar Rapids resident. Comments: kleit@yahoo.com