Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Entrepreneurship and Snow
Because we're in the Midwest, where snow used to be a given, we have all kinds of routines for dealing with it--the big plows that the cities own, the huge storehouses of salt, the shovels and snow blowers and bags of salt and snow boots that we civilians have. What happens to all that equipment, and the industries around them, if the snow goes away?
Well, we don't have to worry about that today, because we are having a very respectable and commodious snowfall--beautiful and fluffy, clinging to the trees and pine needles and shrubs and everything in sight. Also, collecting on the streets and sidewalks and making difficulty for travelers of all kinds.
I looked through the window, and it was a young man--really, I would guess that he was a teenager (why wasn't he in school?).
"Can I shovel your snow?" he asked.
"No, thanks. I'm going to do it myself later." Which is true. I actually kind of like shoveling snow--the exertion, the cold air.
"I only charge five dollars."
"But it hasn't snowed very much yet. It's supposed to keep snowing, so I'd like it to fill in a bit." This was also true. The prediction was for 10 inches, and we barely had two yet. And as a sidenote, this whole conversation was going on through the locked front door, so we both kind of had to shout. I don't open my door to strangers. And especially, I'll admit, not to a teenage stranger who looks West Side-ish (whatever that means; I'll let you hypothesize).
"Do you want me to come back later?"
"Ahhhhh. Let's see how it goes." Which I realize is a bit of a meaningless statement. And he left. And it continued to snow. And then mid-afternoon, I went out and shoveled.