These are Desperate Times

Not really.  I'm joking.   Not that these aren't desperate times for some, they certainly are, but I was just looking for a catchy title to describe the plight of this winter's snowplow drivers.    For a couple of hours last night, a heavy wet snow covered the towns south of Rochester.   No big deal.  In fact, most of it melted as it hit pavement.   The weather was to blame for a passenger jet sliding off a runway upon landing at the airport, though.  And, because the temperature was right around freezing, some slick spots developed on the roads.
This morning, the scraping of the plows woke me right out of a dead sleep.  That is why I am blogging at 6 A.M.   I'm up so why not be productive with the time?   Usually when I get up and it has snowed, I take the dog outside and clear the driveway and the back porch.  That was my plan today when I heard Pittsford's finest rumbling by.  But, when I got outside, there was nothing to shovel or sweep!  It was a bit icy but the driveway was clear.  So too was the road but I could tell it was that way before the plows came by.
This has not been a good winter for the civil servants who like to plow streets.  They still get paid I am sure but they are earning their keep by trimming trees and bushes and fixing things that need repair.  They aren't spending their time clearing snow.   I suspect that brief, heavy coating last night spurred the town's highwaymen into action.  They were just waiting, like a coiled spring, to rocket out of the barn and get to work.   Literally itching to do something more than pick up garbage on the side of the road or mulch the odd Christmas tree still lying at the curb.   Idle hands are the devil's workshop and Satan was knocking at the door.  Like I said, these are desperate times.