I’m writing this from the Wall Community Center. Wall as in Wall Drug, as seen on London buses, a sign in Kenya, as seen in the New York Times. I am stranded here, sitting on a blanket on the floor with about 200 other people… travelers snowed in (so snowed in they shut down the interstate). There’s really not that much snow though… just wind blowing a lot of already existing snow. With wind gusts over 55 mph, white-out conditions, and roads as smooth as a baby’s bottom, I-90 is a death trap.
So we sit here, at first crowded around the edges, but now filling up the middle. We sit and we wait until the next update of road conditions, even though we know they won’t get better ’til the middle of the night and we might as well get comfy. I have settled in between a Christmas tree and two cats. Not as pleasant as it sounds though however, because as lovely as the undecorated fake Christmas tree is, the neighboring cats have obviously soiled their carrier. I get a whiff of cat piss every once a while much like one of those fancy air fresheners automatically sprays an “ocean breeze” every 15 minutes. Except not.
Blankets have been donated by local hotels, businesses, little old ladies. Food provided the same way. Highway patrol is on hand taking everyone’s accident reports. There’s a movie being projected on a wall. Outlets are flocked to, laptops plugged in.
While everyone chats amongst themselves, I sit here typing about them. A lady from Texarkana is wondering why we need to sign a piece of paper to stay here. A pizza delivery lady was searching for a Virginia, who I’m not sure was ever found. Lady with the pissy cats is talking to her granddaughter on the phone in a baby voice (almost as annoying as the scent of her felines). Some teenagers near me are playing Halo on a laptop (though one of them apparently has an XBox with him, but sadly no television). For the most part though, people are just telling their horror stories from the road. “There were times I couldn’t even see the front of my car,” one man said. Another detailed how a speedy driver zipped past him, then landed in the ditch. The guy on the other side of the Christmas tree just said he only lives about 35 miles from here, but he saw over 50 cars in the ditch and he’s not going to try to get home tonight.
There are all kinds of people here. There are ranchers, businessmen, college students, lonesome photographers, and everyone in between. I think we even have an Amish family here. I’ve made one friend here, named Maxine. Maxine is neither a rancher, businessman, or college student. She is a Pomeranian/Jack Russell no bigger than my Baby. Every once and a while, Maxine comes over and snuggles up on my blanket with me. I rub her belly, she licks my jacket. But then, out of sight, her owner calls her name and she disappears again, but returns to me before too long.
The cat piss is getting really annoying now though. It is times like now that I’m really glad I moved to the desert… even though that didn’t save me from tonight.
by Sarah
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