Cold Feet and Close Calls

It was just me in the office that winter, working for the Parks and Recreation Department. My supervisor, Carl, was new—just transferred from somewhere down south, and he was not a fan of the cold. Every morning, he’d come in wrapped in three scarves, a giant puffer jacket, and at least two pairs of gloves.

One day, after another round of his “Can you believe this weather?” monologue, he looks at me and goes, “You must be miserable, too, stuck here all day.”

“Not really,” I say. “It’s cozy in here, and I like getting things done.”

But he wasn’t convinced. “Nah. Come on, let’s go do a field check.”

I figured he’d just take me around to check the empty park benches or maybe see if the street lamps were working. But no—turns out we had to “survey the lake conditions.”

“Why?” I asked, eyeing the layers of ice on the water.

“People do crazy things,” he said, looking more determined than I’d ever seen him. “Better safe than sorry.”

So we pile into the truck, and pretty soon we’re standing on the shore, staring at the ice-capped lake, cold wind cutting right through our coats. I was ready to leave after five minutes, but Carl insisted we walk around “just to be thorough.”

As we’re shuffling along, we notice something strange—a small fishing hole in the middle of the ice.

Carl narrows his eyes. “Looks fresh. Maybe someone’s out there.”

Now, all I want to do is head back to the warmth of the truck, but Carl’s already halfway to the hole, convinced he’s about to rescue some poor soul. He goes out, step by careful step, mumbling to himself, “Hope nobody’s fallen in…”

But then, just as he reaches the hole, there’s a crack.

I freeze, heart pounding. He freezes too, and for a second, we’re both staring wide-eyed at the ice, not moving a muscle. Then he turns, inching his way back, and once he’s safely off the ice, he laughs, maybe to cover up the fact that he was just as scared as I was.

“That,” he says, still a little breathless, “was closer than I’d have liked.”

On the drive back, he’s quiet. And when we finally get to the office, he takes off his gloves and says, “Maybe you were right about staying inside.”

The next day, Carl comes in, looking a little more humble. “I got a call from the regional manager,” he says, rubbing his neck. “He said maybe we should prioritize safety over… ‘enthusiasm.’”

I raised an eyebrow. “So, no more ice adventures?”

He chuckles. “Guess not.”

From then on, Carl was a lot more thoughtful about his plans. And I learned that sometimes, a little patience goes a long way.

Moral: Sometimes, it’s better to pause and think things through before charging ahead. Rushing in can turn an ordinary day into a close call you didn’t need.