During Michigan's Polar Vortex, my car was buried in three feet of snow on a side street in Hamtramck. No amount of shoveling was going to remedy the situation. Outside looked like something out of The Thing, but without the allure of mutated creatures and impending doom. Unless, of course, you count many of Hamtramck's residents. They're scary in any weather, but especially during the winter. I live in a place where chairs are set out to save parking spaces. I've seen everything from desk chairs to really expensive kitchenette pieces, strewn through the streets as if it's "take-all" trash day. Once, I noticed that someone used a cardboard box the size of a car to save their space. Who are these people?
Nevertheless, given my situation, I decided to get a ride with my girlfriend, Megan. I should have just stayed home. Five minutes into the drive, I felt like we were in some kind of zombie apocalypse. Replace the zombies with tumultuous weather and over confident drivers and boom, accidents every quarter mile. We were on the Lodge South and just under the McNichols overpass we saw a recent spin-out; a purple, Chevy Cavalier was stalled in the center lane. In the -15 degree weather we were hesitant to pull over and help. But our consciences got the better of us. As I walked to the Cavalier, cars were buzzing past me, and due to the cold, my nose felt as if it would shatter and fall from my face. I reached the car, and inside was a disoriented, older woman named Carol. She was on her phone with emergency services and had one of those medical masks on. The kind that doctor's wear, or the type paranoid people wear to avoid the bird flu or some other over publicized, fear rendering epidemic. Her airbags deployed and she couldn't find her emergency light switch. Reaching into her car, I was able to find the switch under the deployed airbag on her steering column. I was concerned about that mask. It would be my luck to contract some contagious disease in sub zero temperatures all because I suffer from an overactive conscience.
I was able to push the car with Carol in it to the far right lane. As I was doing so, cars were trying to swerve around me into the right lane. Carol was excitedly exclaiming the car was moving all on its own. I was freezing and dumbfounded. It was ridiculous. I was about to grab an axe and reenact Jack's famous descent into madness in The Shining. Holding my composure, I put on a formidable face, staring the inconsiderate drivers down as they passed on my right.
After getting the car safely off the freeway, I encouraged Carol to wait for the ambulance in Megan's car with us. She wasn't hurt, but her car was in bad shape. In about five minutes, three other crashes happened right behind us. There was a curve on the freeway which created a blind spot, and the MDOT emergency worker who was in the process of setting up flares to notify drivers of the treachery, inadvertently caused more accidents. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't tragic. After she got into our car, she noticed a large power tool in the backseat. She skeptically asked, "You a butcher or something?!" I looked next to me and laughed. At the time, I was working as a contractor and was transporting a chop saw. She must have feared for her life. She probably felt safer in the middle of the freeway. After all, she was in some strange person's car with sharp objects. I explained that I was a contractor and her mood lifted. She said, "Good for you! Not many women in your profession are there?" She is absolutely right. And there aren't many women that can push cars across the freeway either. You're welcome, Carol.
