Winter Wonderland or the Apocolypse?

 The view of the back parking lot of my apartment complex, as seen from my bedroom window.

My embarrassing Twitter update from Thursday night (visible in the right sidebar of the blog) and the one after it should tip you off on the fact that it has snowed here in Charlotte.  Yes, it has snowed in North Carolina.  A lot of people in my corps hail from the deep southern states- Texas, Florida, Georgia- and seem as giddy as some of my kids at the idea of snow.

I was not quite as giddy.  There's a reason people move to the south, and usually it's to escape the mornings where news anchors excitedly report that the windchill will be above 0 degrees.  "No need to start your car an hour before you have to leave for work!" they exclaim.  "No need to wear tights and leggings underneath your pants!"

While these optimistic, shining-star college grads are gleefully clapping your hands and sending pictures to their friends and family at home, the rest of Charlotte exhibits quite a different emotion.  Panic.

I know I've poked a lot of fun at the North Carolina concept of winter weather, but the way people react to snow, or even the possibility of snow (no matter how unlikely), still surprises me.  A big reason is that there aren't actually that many people in Charlotte that are natives (side note: is it Charlottians?  Charlottens?  Charlotters?  I'll have to find that out).  Most of the people I've met down here have moved here from the miserable winters of Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Albany.  Half the people from my school are from Buffalo.  We're the ones that remain unfazed by the frantic forecasts, wondering whether real meteorologists will ever move to the south.  The only we're really worried about is how to drive home with the white-knuckled drivers that can't seem to grasp how to drive with a quarter of a centimeter of rapidly melting flurries.  Or the frenzied shoppers in Harris Teeter, buying enough bread and eggs to survive in an underground bunker for six weeks.

It's even funnier when you talk to these people, the ones who complain about "the coldest winter they've seen in years," temperatures dipping as low as 33 (in the middle of the night).  I told some parents that my family was from Buffalo and they backed away, hands in the air, eyes steady but scared, as if they might catch frostbite or pneumonia just from being too close to me.  "Buffalo?" they ask, stepping away slowly.  "That's nice..."  Then they turn and run for the parking lot, screeching off to the Food Lion for more groceries.