This story reminded me of one of my own.
It was about a week before Christmas. I’m used to snowfall, and am usually prepared for doing some shoveling and scraping to get my car free in the mornings. Except this morning, I had parked by the curb the night before because I was visiting my mom, who lived nearby.
This wouldn’t normally be a problem, even with the foot-and-a-half fall we’d had that night, except apparently the snowplow decided to come along the not-so-busy road rather early that day, and basically buried my poor car in at least three feet of very hard plow-packed snow.
I grabbed my shovel and went to work, but I knew it wasn’t going to be a fast or easy job, so I texted my manager that I would be a little late that morning, complete with a picture of the snow burial.
The combination of freezing temperatures and the plow pushing and packing the snow meant my tires were trapped in essentially ice blocks, and there were small icebergs on either end blocking me in.
I’d been struggling for about twenty minutes and had barely made a dent in the mess when another plow came by. This was not an official plow, but a personal pickup truck that someone had rigged a full-size plow onto for ease of winter driving. He pulled up close and shooed me away from the vehicle and then did some very careful maneuvering of his giant plow, getting as close to my car as possible on all sides.
Luckily, there was nobody in front of or behind me, so he had the room. He did several short little passes, each time coming closer to my car to try and get as much snow as possible. Then he got out and used the shovel to break up the chunks of ice left near my tires and push them aside as well.
Once he was sure I was free, he hopped back on his plow and continued on his merry way. Probably took him maybe ten minutes where it would have taken me at least about forty-five minutes or more to get out. My manager was pleasantly surprised I made it and just as pleased by the helpful stranger as I was.
Related:
Mister Plow Is Canadian?!