You don’t know -5

Kevin Scanlon

I have a digital gauge in my car that tells me which direction I am

driving and also tells me the outside temperature.

This morning, it read “-5.”

Let me tell you about -5.

“Negative.” Just say the word. It’s sinister.

I should have known when I walked in my garage and the ice and

snow from yesterday had not melted off my car that this was not a

good sign. I kept staring at the gauge, confused, thinking it would

change. I guess the first stage is denial. At first, I thought it was

the direction I was heading -- that “5” kind of looks like an “S.”

Then I started tapping where the negative sign was, thinking it might

just go away. Tap, tap, tap.

Stage two is negotiation. As I am driving to the train station, I

keep looking at the number and mumbling, “Please, please, please go

up.” My car’s engine is whining at me like a large elephant.

I pull into the train station parking lot, and it still reads -5.

If you have seen any prison movies, there is always one scene

where someone gets tossed into solitary confinement and they keep

showing the person in different stages: There is always one part

where the guy loses his marbles and starts laughing or giggling

uncontrollably. Making the decision to open your car door at -5 and

walk to the train platform is kind of like that. I guess stage three

is then some weird combination of goofy acceptance and descent into

madness. I start to laugh, open my car door and step into the frozen

tundra that is my life.

Some of you may be familiar with the term “wind chill.” It is not,

I am sorry to say, the name of some cool new rapper. It is the effect

the wind gives you on real cold days like today. For you sunny

California types, it would be like walking through the desert on some

100-plus degree day and having someone throw hot coffee in your face

continually. It is not fun.

It makes -5 seem like picnic weather.

If any of you have ever read “To Build a Fire,” by Jack London,

that is kind of like what my walk to the train station from my car

was this morning. A great short story -- you should pick it up --

it’s all about hubris and lack of planning, and one very cold, deadly

walk.

For those of you unfamiliar, let me elaborate: The water in my

eyes dries up. I keep looking down to see if I forgot to wear pants.

My tongue feels like your arm or leg does when it falls asleep. It

feels like when I breathe in, my lungs are turning into little

icicles. My hair freezes to my head. (I am wearing a hat; no, I do

not “blow-dry.”) In the Midwest, people are (how do I say this

delicately?), well, people are “suspicious” about guys who blow-dry

their hair.

Halfway to the train station, I consider curling up in a ball by

the side of the tracks and drifting off into unconsciousness. I want

to write a goodbye note to my family, but my hands are frozen.

But, there is the station, so I muddle through on frozen legs,

walking like Frankenstein. My teeth hurt. I have just walked a total

of one block.

I get into the train station and see the people huddled inside. I

want to eat them (if you have seen the movie “Alive” or watched any

Chilly Willy cartoons, you will get this reference).

I am starting to regain my senses and buy some coffee to warm

myself up. I can start to feel my tongue and my hands again. I don’t

really want to eat anyone in the train station so much anymore.

Except that one guy who looks like a turkey leg.

* KEVIN SCANLON is the former human resources specialist for Times

Community News, the parent company of the Daily Pilot. He now works

for the Tribune Co., which owns the Los Angeles Times and the Times

Community News, in Chicago.