Maintaining perspective in 8 inches of snow

I have a motto as a producer: It is not my fault, but it is my problem. And so it was with the “TechKnow” segment on voice message banking, a technology being developed to allow people who lose the ability to speak to still have some use of their own voice. However, this post is not about the behind-the-scenes fun. This is about the dopey stuff we producers all feel entitled to whine about, even though everything turns out just fine.

We landed in Baltimore a week before spring. I hadn’t even gotten my bag after the flight when the cameraman called to ask, “What are we going to do about the snow?”

His voice was filled with trepidation. I was perplexed. When I got on the plane in Los Angeles, weather reports assured me that there would be less than 1 inch. Apparently that number had multiplied while I was flying. By the time I got off the plane, local forecasters were predicting 8 to 12 inches, yet another massive snowstorm.

I called the boss. I wanted to cry, but I’m too old. He wished me luck and told me to get a four-wheel drive. Thanks!

By the time “TechKnow” contributor Shini Somara’s plane arrived, it was snowing. We got our rental car from Hertz, trying to beat the quickly accumulating snow. I was exhausted, so Shini volunteered to drive. We got into the car. I was excited — there was a snow scraper in the front seat! Shini turned the key.

Click. Again. Click. Again. Click. Dead car.

We schlepped back down to the Hertz desk. I muscled my way to the front. Way too many minutes of chitchat later, we were in a bigger car. Shini drove.

“Wow, look at how the flakes kind of stab the windshield,” she said with the wonderment of a child.

“Shini,” I began asking, fearing the answer I already sensed. “Have you ever driven in snow before?”

“No, this is fun!”

Maybe it was fun for her. I’m no Danica Patrick, but I’ve done a fair share of driving in snow while living in Vermont and New York and have successfully steered into the skid and survived. Since I am able to write this, we clearly made it, but I’m certain it was only because I had a death grip on the passenger side of the dashboard.

After all that, I was in an unpleasant mood when we went to check in to our hotel. When I finally got to the room, the key didn’t work. It didn’t work for me, and it didn’t work for the desk clerk. Hotel staff moved me to another room, one nearer to the clanking ice machine.

I didn’t get an upgrade, but I had a great view of the snow. I watched it all night long — because staying up and watching the snow pile up all night is an effective way of making it stop.

By 7 a.m., there was at least 8 inches. If only I had that bloody scraper in the new car. USA Today may be an excellent paper, but it wouldn’t make for an efficient snow scraper for an upgraded SUV. I was probably 1 inch of snow away from frostbitten fingers.

Bless the people at the Owings Mills sanitation department; they spent the night plowing a path for me to the Baltimore Ravens headquarters. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell them to plow the road for O.J. Brigance, the former NFL player we needed to interview. His PR person didn’t know if and when he’d get to the location, and we couldn’t get to his house unless we had snowshoes to travel down his street.

Thankfully, he did make it with his fabulous attitude and wonderful wife. We had enough downtime for me to do a bit of complaining to his wife, Chanda. As the complaints were slithering out of my mouth, I started feeling like an idiot. Here was her husband, a 44-year-old man with ALS (otherwise known as Lou Gehrig's disease), who is paralyzed, unable to speak, on a ventilator and using a feeding tube, and I’m complaining about not having a snow scraper.

But then Chanda said something that made me feel liberated: “With all that O.J. deals with, he’s so positive, but I still get furious when someone takes the space I want at the grocery store.”

Phew! It wasn’t just me!

More complaints were thrown on the pile when we got to Boston. I got into the Hertz rental car to head to our interview. Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing. Click. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

While I was hustling into a cab, the Hertz people told me they would jump the car, and it should be as good as new. No, I said, deliver a car to my location. Two hours later, a guy showed up. He was by himself. I was pissed about the crummy car, but he took it in stride.

Again, I noticed he was alone.

“How are you going to pick up the broken car?”

Apparently no one told Cliff the true dilemma he was facing in 20-degree weather. To get out of the cold, I invited him into the house where we were interviewing Holly Ladd.

Holly also has ALS and is now confined to her chair at home. She can no longer speak, but she has this incredible sparkle in her eyes. Her life partner, Joan, invited Cliff in.

I’m sure he was a little astonished. With me, Holly, Joan and the 10 other people involved in the shoot and all our equipment, it was probably quite a scene, but Cliff strode in like someone who belonged to part of the circus.

I introduced him all around as “Cliff it’s-not-my-fault-but-it-is-my-problem Hertz man.” He laughed. It was only his third week on the job. He went in to introduce himself to Holly. He hung around and got to know everyone for a while. We took pictures; I emailed them to an address that included the word “wolfman” in it.

It made me laugh, but more important, Holly laughed. And laughed. It was a laugh for which I would happily endure another dead rental car.

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