Here in the northern latitudes, it appears we’ve come to the end of the golden October days and soon grey November will descend and then some snow flurries, followed by an Arctic air mass. The next morning you awaken to find the driveway drifted in, schools are closed, a Snow Emergency is declared, but your inner dad says, “You think you’re staying home from work, you got another think coming”, and you climb in your car and head for Amalgamated Federated. Abandoned cars in the ditches of the Interstate, which is glare ice, but you make it downtown and find a parking spot and ignore the ‘No Parking’ sign – a man makes his own rules in a blizzard – and you arrive at Amalgamated and go to your tiny cubicle on the sixth floor. 

The company execs have spaces in the heated underground garage, but they were Ubered or Lyfted to work by drivers named Abdullah and Mohammed from East Africa, and when they see you in your tiny cubicle, your heavy parka and thermal vest and ski pants and insulated boots, suddenly the social order is turned upside down. You’re a hero and the privileged are exposed as moral weaklings. The president of Amalgamated decided to “work from home” and the stigma sticks to him. Winter is warfare and deserters are disdained. His secretary sneers at him and types his letters, changing his verbs from indicative to subjunctive and earnings go down. 

Some Minnesotans head for Arizona in November, which is an admission that your services are no longer needed, but Mr Cubicle shovels his walk and the walks of elderly neighbours. He turns his furnace down to conserve energy. He takes a toboggan to the grocery and loads up on rice and beans and potatoes. He sees a deer struggling in deep snow and cuts its throat and skins it and brings 40 pounds of fresh venison home to his family.