Memoir | Snowstorm | Part VI of VI

As the Washington, D.C. region braced itself for an impending snowstorm, my employer at the U.S. Department of Prominence remained vigilant, fully aware of the imminent chaos it would unleash upon the rush hour traffic, inundate the city’s transportation systems with a surge of commuters, and potentially lead to a government shutdown. Thus, my journey back home became an arduous odyssey, fraught with challenges at every turn.

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Within the confines of our government agencies, we relied on a multitude of sources to stay informed about the impending snowstorm. The corridors and offices of the agencies were adorned with televisions, tuned to local news channels, The Weather Channel, or CNN, ensuring they were constantly updated. Additionally, a Department-wide email was circulated, providing crucial information on road conditions and the sudden onslaught of heavy snow in our vicinity.

Finally, the moment we had all been eagerly anticipating arrived when the local news broadcast the decision we had been waiting for: the U.S. Office of Personnel Management had granted government workers the privilege of leaving early, without having to dip into our hard-earned leave balance. Following that announcement, my agency dispatched an email permitting us to leave work early.

At precisely 4:30 PM, the snowstorm descended upon the city with an unexpected fury! The winds roared, their haunting howls echoing through the streets. Thick blankets of snow enveloped the roads, rendering them treacherous and nearly impassable. The once clear visibility now deteriorated to the state of extreme obscurity, making navigation a daunting and perilous task.

As the government buildings emptied in response to the early departure allowance, a mass exodus ensued, triggering a wave of congestion and chaos. Buses and subway trains became inundated with a surge of commuters, struggling to find space amidst the overwhelming influx of people. Meanwhile, the roads became ensnared in a suffocating gridlock, as vehicles jostled from even the slightest inch of progress. The city found itself trapped in a state of immobilizing traffic, exacerbating the already challenging conditions brought on by the snowstorm.

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Just before wrapping up my work for the day, my supervisor approached me with a request to reschedule his official meetings for another day. He also emphasized the importance of logging on from home in the event of an official government shutdown. Swiftly, I completed the task at hand, bidding my boss goodnight before making my way out. Considering the worsening conditions outside, I made the decision to leave my car safely parked in the garage, opting to retrieve it when I returned to the building.

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I left the building and stood at the bus stop. The regular crew of women was waiting at the bus stop, too. The bus arrived and was moving like a turtle. I got off the bus and walked to the subway.

Once in the subway, it was jam-packed with people standing on the platform, and the subway cars were so full that no one could enter them. I saw a woman who lived a block from my home on the subway. She and I departed the subway at Foggy Bottom in Northwest, D.C., and we walked back toward Constitution Avenue and boarded a Circulator Bus to get to Pennsylvania Avenue, SE.

The bus was inching up Constitution Avenue, but it was moving. The Circulator Bus finally made it to Pennsylvania Avenue, Southeast, and then it went out of service. After we got off the Circulator Bus, we waited an hour or two at the bus stop for another bus to get us across the John Philip Sousa Bridge into Anacostia, Southeast.

The snowfall was coming down thick and relentlessly.

The bus stop was jam-packed with people waiting to get across the Sousa Bridge, too. My buddy and I decided to walk across the Sousa Bridge. Another woman heard us talking, so she joined us. The traffic on the Sousa Bridge was not moving.

We kept walking, and the snowstorm conditions worsened.

We made it across the bridge. We stopped and waited for a bus with another crowd of people on that side of the bridge in Anacostia, Southeast. No bus came across the bridge. So, we decided to keep moving onward. We walked about eight blocks up a hill to get home. We women finally made it to our apartment complexes. I was the last one on the path to get home.

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It was 11:30 P.M. when I walked into my apartment. I showered, ate a small salad, and settled in for the night.

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The next morning, my alarm clock rang, and I immediately turned on the news for the weather status. The local news stations reported that the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) announced that the federal government was shut down for the day, and the city was dumped with 7 feet of snow.

I thought, “I will log on and read e-mails at 8:15 A.M.”

I rolled over and went back to sleep; my legs were sore.

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(Copyright © 2025 by Mia Z. Edwards. All rights reserved.)