Some years ago, I was in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, on a training gig. When I arrived, the temperature was lower than the windspeed. (The customer had been sending me pictures of his snowbound parking lot for a week, so as to enhance my anticipation of the trip.)
As he drove me to my hotel after the training class, we were engulfed in snow. Visibility was minimal.
I asked, “Tod, is this a white out?”
“No,” he said, “because you can just barely see that,” as he pointed to a shadowy shape that was likely a tree ten feet from the road. At that point, a pick-up careened past us and slid into the ditch.
“Tod,” I said, “it appears that South Dakotans do not know how to drive in the snow.”
He replied, “Frank, no one knows how to drive in the snow.”
I ended up spending an extra night in Sioux Falls because the airport closed the next day. The airline ticket agent was a transplanted Philadelphian. She comped my extra night in a hotel because I was polite to her (she did not have to, as a snow storm is considered an “Act of God” for reaccommodations purposes). (I have found that nasty does not win friends, but does most certainly influence people.)
She told me that the one thing she missed most about Philly was Butterscotch Crimpets. When I got home, I mailed her a box of Tastycakes.
I used to say, that, once you Tastycake, you will never Hostess again.