“A good five inches of snow falls, and the cubicle landscape is suddenly populated the next day by more manly men, who seem to have hiked in from the backcountry, or driven in on their imaginary snowmobiles. … The coat closet by the reception desk smells ripe and woolly. Snow Day Man sits at his desk and waits for the avalanche search-and-rescue distress call that never comes. (He is indifferent to the snickerings over there of Snow Day Woman, wearing that silly pashmina — or worse, tights — and her Incredibly Dumb Hat.)”
— Hank Stuever, on how offices transform into Eddie Bauer catalogs when snow falls.
