For all you Warriors and Wimps caught in the East Coast Storms.
Battle of the Elements
When Wimps Meet Warriors, Hot Air Rises
By Paul Farhi
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, December 12, 2002; Page C01
Identify yourself: Weather warrior or weather wimp?
The wimp applauds the prudence of bureaucrats who close down schools and government offices hours before the Doppler radar detects a single flurry, or (like yesterday) before the thinnest wafer of ice forms. The wimp watches the Weather Channel incessantly, expectantly, fretfully. Sometimes he takes notes.
The warrior exists primarily to belittle the wimp.
The warrior sneers at the weather, and at the wimp's rueful contemplation of it. He or she is most likely a transplant from Milwaukee or Minneapolis or Cleveland or perhaps that epitome of manful winter-weather endurance, Buffalo. Places where they'll be gosh darned if a little 14-inch blizzard is going to disrupt their hearty Rust Belt way of life.
The wimp drives a standard two-wheel-drive car but thinks seriously about buying a jacked-up 4WD Navigator for the three days of the year it might come in handy.
The warrior is shopping for a new Harley.
The wimp's motto is "Omigod."
The warrior's is "Get over it."
The wimp bundles up, wearing a parka over snow pants over flannel shirt, long johns and thermal undershirt, accessorizing with a ski cap and mittens, to take advantage of the insulating effects of "layering."
The warrior debates whether to put on his flip-flops to shovel the driveway.
Wimps rush to the store at the sight of the first flake to stock up on milk, bread, canned goods and toilet paper.
Warriors go out in the middle of the storm because they've run out of beer.
The wimp seeks a carefully plowed parking space, no matter how far from the destination.
The warrior knows how to parallel-park in ice ruts and snowbanks.
Wimp: Slush!
Warrior: Mush!
Wimps own snow blowers. Warriors own winches.
The warrior will tell you stories about real weather, not this pale-imitation stuff. He'll remember the storms of his childhood, how the snows piled around him, how the frost snapped power lines and froze the pipes in his house. His is a tale of survival against the elements straight out of Tolstoy.
Once the warrior starts in on this story, you'll want to shoot yourself. Or him.
Alas, we are predominantly wimp in the Washington area. In fact, we are 82 percent wimp, with only an 18 percent chance of warrior.
But our wimpiness isn't our fault. We have been trained to be this way. We can't help it.
It's all the news media's fault.
The media -- particularly television -- have all but erased the threshold of rational weather evaluation and reaction. In the run-for-your-lives coverage accorded even a rumor of snow, we are presumed wimpy, all the time.
And so we have become the reflection of a fevered weather map.
Channel 5, among others, went into full Armageddon mode the night before Wednesday's ice storm, offering multiple reports of impending doom. Among the station's "coping" suggestions: Wear rubber-soled shoes and "bend your knees" when walking on icy patches.
(What next? To avoid getting wet in the rain, carry an umbrella?)
Channel 4 reporter Darcy Spencer offered irrefutable evidence yesterday morning of something that was obvious to anyone with a window. Standing at a gas station in Frederick, Spencer held up a piece of sheet ice to the camera as if it were a rare dinosaur bone.
The blizzard of excessive media attention triggers a sustained wimp response, which makes a region-wide shutdown all but inevitable.
First comes the coverage. Then, media-conscious law enforcement officials get with the program, advising everyone to exercise caution (considering the alternative, why not?). Soon, school and government officials get the message and announce that they're rolling up their sidewalks (woe to the bureaucrat who defies the prevailing close-ocracy!). Next, the media report the school closings . . . and the circle is complete.
But some bravely resist.
On Channel 4 yesterday morning, reporter Brian Mooar retailed the horrors of downed trees, iced-over power lines, the travails of a morning commute from Winchester, Va.
"It's been very trying, very wet, very slippery," reported Mooar. "You name it, it's been very tough for folks who've been out on the road this morning."
Mooar then moved in to interview an unidentified commuter sitting in her car.
"How was your drive this morning?" he asked.
"It was okay this morning. A little wet. It's mostly wet," she replied cheerfully.
"Okay?" asked an incredulous Mooar. "A little wet? . . . You're getting around okay?"
"Yeah, I made it okay," she replied.
"Where are you from originally?" Mooar asked.
"I'm from northern Pennsylvania," she said.
"So this is normal weather?"
"Yeah, this is normal weather. I'm used to driving in this."
This is what happens when two fronts collide. When wimps and warriors get together, count on a disturbance in the atmosphere. |
