Every morning I get up and walk down the stairs in my comfy pajamas dreaming of a hot cup of coffee and morning tv news and INSTEAD I get to the bottom of the stairs and feel the hard crunchy salt crystals poking through my now damp socks.
The rug at the bottom of the stairs is also the rug inside the front door. Yes, when you enter my place you enter in front of the stairs, so the rug is unavoidable on my way to the coffee maker. But that isn't really what I want to complain about here today. I want to complain about the SALT.
I live in an apartment complex and we have a guy who comes and plows after snowstorms and someone who shovels and snowblows the sidewalks and apparently adores SALT. He throws buckets of salt up and down the sidewalk so thick that the sidewalk is buried under the mounds of white. He leaves piles at the edges of my two step entryway. And everytime the kids come in (or my mother) they track in clumps on the bottoms of their shoes. It's all the way up the stairs. It's under the television. I think there's even some in my bed! I found a crystal on my toothbrush last night.
It's ruining the carpets. My vacuum rattles when I move it. I clean it up every day. I beat the rugs outside, vacuum the carpet, sweep off the steps and the sidewalk ten feet in both directions. I'm a mad woman out there swinging my broom back and forth and swearing at some unseen stranger who makes my life revolve around cleaning the floor. The next morning whether it snows or not--there's all that salt again. A bucket full in front of my place scattered an inch thick in case a flake dare fall from the sky before they can come back and shovel again. It's got to be preventative. I'm surprised there's any snow left anywhere at all!
What they don't know is that I'm saving it up. I've got my own bucket full of dirty used salt. And one morning soon I'm going to catch that salt-obsessed, snow-hating, crazy man and I'm going to salt him and see if he melts!
Winter is natural. Living in a salt shaker is not!