Muddling Through Snowmageddon

You may have heard that the capital of the free world and weather wimpiness closed down this week due to a succession of paralyzing snowstorms. One notable exception was the Glenn School's Washington office at 239 Massachusetts Avenue, N.E., where the Glenn Fellows gathered for their weekly seminar while the worst of Wednesday's blizzard howled outside. As a result, the Washington Academic Internship Program might be the only enterprise in town that is not severely behind in its work (though we did have to cancel a policy salon and a scheduled guest speaker).

So, here is a shout-out to an intrepid class of Fellows who made the trek from their townhouse on Constitution Avenue, and to program coordinator Laura Allen, who lives a few blocks away on Jenkins Hill. Our little triumph in the face of adversity was also made possible by the fact that your faithful blogger checked into a nearby hotel the night before.

After class, I headed to my home in Alexandria without much of a plan as to how I was going to get there. As I walked past Union Station, I noticed there was not a single cab in the taxi stand out front--not a good sign, it seemed to me. Then I learned that Metro was operating only underground, which meant that the Yellow Line bridge across the Potomac and the Blue Line tracks through Arlington Cemetery were both out of service. The only way of getting to Virginia was to take the Orange Line, which burrows under the river at Rosslyn. So that's what I did, and I rode it all the way to Ballston. After working my cell phone in the lobby of the nearby Arlington Hilton, I was able to connect with an entrepreneurial cabbie who agreed to pick me up in his 4-wheel drive SUV. He dropped me at my front door a little while later. Total elapsed time: three and a half hours.

The highlight of my adventure in improvised commuting occurred right at the beginning, while plowing into the teeth of blinding wind gusts and feeling--thanks to my suitcase, backpack, and laptop computer--like an overloaded pack mule. While trudging down the middle of Massachusetts Avenue, I encountered what I thought might be one of Washington's legions of homeless men. He looked up as we passed each other, then abruptly stopped. "THE Ohio State University," he cried out, reminding me of my headgear (pictured above). "Go Bucks," I replied through a hearty chuckle. And then, we went our separate ways.