using my discretion

there is a fairly significant snowstorm raging across New York City as i write—scratch that, we're officially under a blizzard warning now. and i write not from the comfort of my home or even from the cozy coffee shop around the corner, but from my office, where i am currently the only one present in my cluster of desks.

we were advised yesterday, via the company intranet, to call the emergency line after six o'clock this morning to obtain information regarding office closures. we predicted it last night before we left work—the company gods would not tell us to come in or stay home, but simply to use our "discretion" when determining whether or not it was safe and smart to come to work in a blizzard.

lo and behold, that's exactly what the message said when i called four hours ago. "due to inclement weather and with regard for our employees' safety, we are encouraging employees to use discretion when traveling to and from the office today." the message went on to say the office would indeed be open and operating under normal business hours, but the company would support whatever decision i felt the need to make regarding the snow.

let us now heave a collective sigh.

remember the days when you'd huddle in the kitchen on dark and snowy weekday mornings and listen to AM radio, fingers and toes crossed that the broadcaster would utter the code for your school? nowadays there are probably e-mail blasts or websites to check, but twenty-five years ago it was all done in three- or four-digit codes—amazing i can't remember my school's, as it was burned on my brain for years—and oh, i would be just a ball of anxiety waiting to hear the magic number.

snow day hoopla would actually begin the night before. if it started snowing around dinnertime, that was bad. they'd surely have the roads cleared by morning. if it was just starting to snow at bedtime, that was better. there was a good chance there wouldn't be enough time to plow properly, and if we didn't have a full day off, at least we'd get a late opening.

the best and worst scenario was snow that was predicted to begin overnight. the not-knowing was downright titillating to a 10-year old. i remember waking up on those mornings before my alarm went off. i'd stay in bed, eyes shut, and try to sense the snow. i don't know why i did this—why i didn't just race to my window and open the shade and see what was what. i must have preferred the mystery.

i would lay perfectly still and just listen. if enough time went by and not a single car passed our house, that was a good sign—it must be too snowy to drive. or, if a car did go by, i could tell by the sounds it made—muffled, crunchy, plodding—if the streets were bad. that, too, would indicate a snow day. and the joy i felt was palpable—knowing i had nothing to do the rest of the day but eat sugary cereal and Kraft mac-and-cheese while doing arts and crafts and catching up on Scooby-Doo and the Jetsons.

[another collective sigh? yes, let's.]

what i hated hearing was a car zipping up the street untroubled—the sound of clean tires on pristine pavement. it was so horribly clear then that the forecasters had just been messing with me. on those occasions i would burrow under the covers a little deeper and wait miserably for my mom to knock on my door and utter the dreaded words: "no snow—gotta go to school."

there's no such thing as a snow day when you're a grown-up (unless you're a teacher—buncha jerks). companies love to leave it up to your "discretion" in inclement weather, which basically translates as: "your character, work ethic, loyalty and dedication will be judged based on how you interpret this ambiguous message." if you don't go in—which is not the most ridiculous idea because, after all, snow is coming down sideways outside your bedroom window and your snow boots are five years old and from Target (i.e., water absorbent rather than water proof)—but everyone else goes in, you will of course be deemed a wimp and a slacker and be at risk for losing a potential promotion.

however, if you do make it in (soggy Target boots and all) yet no one else is in the office, including your boss who will completely miss this glorious display of your work ethic, dedication and loyalty—indications of how badly you want a promotion—you will feel resentful and like an idiot and spend your time writing a blog instead of doing work.

which, let's be honest, is not anywhere near as awesome as a Scooby-Doo marathon.

mbm