Eliminating Job Possibilities for Myself: Why I Could Never Be a Weather Girl
Although I would rock — and enjoy — wearing a tight and inexplicably strapless dress that looks like what hookers wear while trying to get through upscale hotel lobbies incognito to meet their Johns to work every day, I have come to realize that I cannot be a weather girl.
I could not, in good conscience, play the STORM WATCH game.
For those of you who don’t know, or who live in a place that sees more than 2 inches of rain per year, STORM WATCH is what happens whenever a meteorologist spots a single dark cloud on the horizon and panic ensues as the citizens of Los Angeles lose. their. shit.
I just could not get on TV and say with a straight face, “There’s some precipitation on the horizon, so we’re on STORM WATCH everybody. Please, please be careful out there, the roads are extremely dangerous in these conditions”.
Bitch, there’s barely enough drizzle out here to water my basil plant — what the hell are you talking about?
And yet, everyone immediately goes into apocalypse mode and traffic is even more horrendous than usual as people start operating their vehicles as if they were driving down an icy mountain in a blizzard and they forgot their snow chains. I can’t even . . . how do I explain.
I left my house at 7:40 this morning.
I walked into work at 9:20.
My office is 18 miles from my home, and pretty much a straight shot on the freeway.
I could — and have — literally gotten to Santa Barbara, which is nearly 100 miles from my home in the other direction, in less time than it took me to get 18 miles. I kid you not.
An hour and 40 minutes to go 18 miles, because Weather Girl Barbie, who probably didn’t even go to weather girl school, whatever that entails, said we’re on STORM WATCH. Because it is overcast and there is a moderate amount of drizzle.
My basil plant better be well-hydrated when I get home, that’s all I have to say.