If I had a buck for every time in the past two weeks that my husband called me and told me he’d be a few minutes later than he thought because he can’t get Cartman^[1] up the hill, I’d be enjoying a nice steak dinner tonight instead of beans and rice.

We live at the almost-top of a gigantic hill. It’s the kind of hill that will leave you seriously winded if you’re out of shape. It’s misleadingly long, too. You look up it and think, Oh, shee, that’s not too bad, I’ll just… we’re almost there, it’s just… huff, puff… good LORD what is this, the neverending hill story?!? The same kind of misguided optimism leads people with short, fat, woefully-underwinterized cars to keep trying to get them up the hill which! Get this! Has not been plowed once since this snow nightmare started two weeks ago!

I just cannot believe our tiny little town’s engineering department won’t plow this hill. How does any town in Canada manage to so epically fail in the winter preparedness department? I also just about had kittens when we were trying to get up a different hill to get home and encountered someone shovelling snow from his walk and driveway on to the unplowed road. I’m ashamed to admit my outrage led to some rather choice phrases being mouthed at him through the car window as we slid back past him having had the ‘run-up’ to the hill colossally botched thanks to his brilliant snow-removal tactics.

It boggles the mind, since I’m technically not from around here, watching the greater Vancouver area (not) deal with an influx of real winter weather. Everyone seems to think just waiting it out is a legitimate option. Especially since the local news has been insisting the forecast calls for rain for at least two weeks now, the decision to just not shovel/de-ice/rock salt/sand their sidewalks and wait for the rain to save them seems to be the most popular one.

If you ask me, all you native BC’ers should go get some gloves, layer up, get outside and revel in a true Canadian winter experience. ‘Cause you know, the rest of us kind of laugh at you when you don’t.

1. Yes, by the way. Our car’s name is Cartman. You know. Short, fat, white. Our previous car was a 1982 Toyota Corolla, named Kenny because my husband kept killing it. [↩]