“Yes, I’m walking and I’ll be there in a couple of hours . . .”—a screech, followed by a siren, interrupted Matthew—“unless I’m dead first. Anyway, get to work. Save yourself.” Another screech and the phone went dead. How was I supposed to traverse twenty blocks?—the snow came up to my torso and I didn’t have cross-country skis. Mayor Adams had just declared a state of emergency. Why couldn’t I do the same?

What was Kate thinking?—she was six months pregnant and lived in the suburbs! Not to mention, had she kept herself and her unborn daughter in the safety of her home, the judge wouldn’t have a basis for thinking it was even possible to get to the courthouse.

I reached for a pair of disgusting brown cords on the floor, my heart pounding in my chest, my head, my fingers. Next to them was a pair of filthy red and green socks. In a state of pulsating shock, I lifted them, wiped my armpits, and put them on my feet. I blurted incoherent nonsense to Puja and James. And then I was out.

I opened the door to my apartment building and fell down the stairs, landing splat on the sidewalk. I nearly lost a limb or two, but at least nobody witnessed the fall. Even the driver of a bus stuck on the corner had deserted for warmer pastures. Crawl. Skid. Slide. In the middle of Market Street, I nose-dived onto a sidewalk snow bank to avoid getting smooshed by a snowplow driven by a very cold-looking man willing to decimate anything and anyone in his path.

The only thing propelling me toward 6th and Market was the knowledge that I—Sheila Raj—was an essential employee to the city of Philadelphia during this crisis. Important business was going down in Friedman’s chambers and I was needed. The fire department. Police. EMT. And judicial clerks. We were the backbone of the city during crises. Why was I mad? I should have been proud.

Did I mention the courthouse was closed? I had to buzz and buzz and buzz. The lone ranger let me in only after I’d explained which judge I clerked for (“Oh yeah—Friedman’s clerks—you people are the only ones around here during storms”). There was no phone-in-the-bucket nonsense. No ID carding. Instead, the guy smiled wanly and waved me through. I felt sort of bad for him. Without his petty friends, the mean and nasty security guard seemed rather pathetic. He was like Puff Daddy without his entourage—big teeth with nothing to say. I was sort of bummed that the elevator was empty. For the first time, a weather conversation would have been fascinating.