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The north wind howled and the snow billowed into 3 foot plus drifts. Stan, standing in the 5 below wind chill breeze, quickly assessed the situation. His car was stuck. Stuck in his #$%&#@ drive way. Somehow the solar (God put it there, God will take it away!) method of snow removal didn’t seem that efficient when you wanted to go somewhere and your trusty transport vehicle was mired in cold white powder. Our hero realized after 20 minutes of fighting alone that he could not free his auto without help. So into the house he trudged.
Pat, I need your help. The request went to his spouse who agreed to his plea and bundled up for the task confronting them. The game plan was for Pat to sit in the vehicle while Stan remained outside helping to rock the car free from its undesired entombment. Well the great strategy was not working out under the harsh reality of the driveway. Stan and Pat were not in synchronization. As he pushed one way, Pat urged the engine in the other. It was a pattern that continued to repeat itself for another blustery 10 minutes.
By now our hero was hurting. He was paying the price for no hat and no gloves. The flesh doesn’t respond well to artic conditions. So in frustration, Stan walked to the driver’s side of the car, starting frantically beating on the widow imploring his spouse into a more coordinated pattern of attack. Meanwhile, Pat slowly rubbed the inside of the window and peered out to see Stan standing out in the cold. She opened the window a crack and yelled back, "I can’t hear you. The heater is making too much noise!"
This was not the response our hero was looking for and the frustration of the moment resulted in fiery expletives that vibrated through the neighborhood. End of rescue mission. It was time for a few brews to ease the tension.