As I prepare for my fourth fall semester Dead Week, the woes of winters past begin to resurface, bringing back painful memories.

It is as though I can still feel the pain of falling on my ass freshman year, walking down a hill with ice that was invisible in the faint yellow street lamp’s halo.

Sophomore year, I was left to walk up Monroe Street in tennis shoes and capri-length yoga pants in what seemed like three feet of snow to turn a paper in on time. After the car got stuck trying to get up the hill, I walked from the Starbucks parking lot through what was probably about eight inches of snow to get my history paper turned in by noon.

Although I had left myself several hours to turn the paper in, after getting the car unstuck, turned around and parked, then walking up the hill and across campus, I ended up getting my paper turned in with soaked shoes and five minutes to spare.

I can still see the effects of last year’s first snow did to my very-not-waterproof leather boots, and the chill my toes felt for days after certainly did permanent damage.

Where is the snow now? That small dose we got over Dad’s Weekend worked great to get our parents worried about us, as they shipped snow tires from across the state and sent us extra money for electricity. But now, as the end of the semester nears, we are left waiting in fear for the snows to fall that will accumulate in snowplowed piles, destined not to melt until next May.

I will take this time to tell you all, “you’re welcome.” For it is because of my anti-snow dance that we have been spared, thus far, the impossible climbs up the many hills to get to class. My years of Pullman winter experience have taught me to worship the snow gods with this dance, which I will teach to you all now.

It’s really all up to individual taste. As someone who cannot dance to save her life, I tend to lean toward the finger dancing, or just a general awkward shuffle. The goal of this anti-snow dance is the humiliate yourself as much as possible.

By sacrificing your coolness factor to attempt to hold off the snow, the snow gods might take pity. They will appreciate your effort and enjoy the laugh you give them. They might just let us off the hook, accepting your humiliation through the dance in place of your humiliation on the ice.

I expect you all to take this great knowledge and perform your anti-snow dance. Maybe if we all do it, the snow gods will have mercy on us and let us drive home after finals before making Pullman uninhabitable. Please, I beg of you.

Jennifer Ladwig is a senior multimedia journalism major from Washougal. She can be contacted at [email protected].