A dose of southern hospitality
By Patrick Darcey
Growing up in New England we referred to one or two inches of snow as a “dusting.” One or two inches of snow in metropolitan Atlanta, I quickly learned, was a “disaster.”
Leaving my office in Kennesaw for my normal twenty-minute reverse commute into the city, after the storm already began, proved to be too late.
Minutes of stalled and soul-crushing traffic turned into hours. And then the sun went down.
People ran out of gas. Cars became stuck; literally freezing in place. I listened to the AM radio broadcasts of dire situations just one or two miles ahead on the interstate. I needed to act.
My own vehicle was down to less than a quarter tank and my one bottle of water was ready for a refill. I pulled off the highway and crept down Cobb Parkway, looking for a motel, or a lodge, or just somewhere warm to pass the night.
It was a sheet of ice. Spinning tires, horn blasts and frustration filled the cold air.
By the time I