Why I Hate Winter; Or, There is No Such Thing as Altruism

Winter hit big last night.

I woke up this morning and was greeted with a good couple feet of snow on the porch and driveway. The few peers I have that are up that early on a Monday were busy flooding Facebook with questions about whether the university was having a snow day. Whispering a silent prayer, I logged on to Western's site to be greeted with the unapologetic headline, "University remains open." (Edit: Oh sure, now they cancel classes.)

Except it didn't even matter in the end, because after waiting thirty minutes at my bus stop for a late bus (after trudging through the unplowed roads and sidewalk to get there), I decided to turn back around and call it a lost cause. Upon discovering that I was now locked out of my house, and no one else was awake yet inside, I undertook the arduous task of shovelling the driveway instead.

Shovelling used to be more bearable when my brother still lived at home. Sure, his sense of what constitutes "half" of the driveway was always askew, but at least he was out there with me in that icy hell. Nowadays it's just me and my thoughts, and those thoughts are often soured by the old people at the end of our court.

It just so happens that we have a lot of retired old people populating the circle at the end of the road. While I have nothing but bile for a huge snow like we had last night, it's as if it is what those people live for. They congregate and laugh about it, and they do so much too early in the morning. They start up their snowblowers and clear their driveways. Then they begin their systematic clearing of neighbours' drives.

This is the part I hate most.


Without prompting, they will clear others' driveways for them. These services are wanton and random. This itself is a problem because those neighbours left out automatically feel ill will towards the person doing the clearing. But the bigger problem is that these people aren't doing it out of the kindness of their heart; they are doing it to get thanks.

It's an idea that I've often given thought to: whether altruism truly exists. Are there actually kind people out there, who sacrifice their own selves for others? Or are there merely people who help others to reap the thanks. In this case, I'm confident in my assessment; the plowers take their time on the driveways, careful to ensure that my neighbours notice them and come out to shower them with thanks.

For the first time on this street, one of them decided to come and help me clear my driveway today. Unasked for (and in fact, unwanted), he started pushing his plow up my drive as I shovelled the other half. I had no idea who he was; I didn't know which house he came from, and I certainly have never talked to him. When we finished, I thanked him, but the thanks seemed to me to be unsatisfactory in his eyes. I don't know what he was expecting; after all, I didn't want his help. I didn't want to engage anyone this morning. And really, that's what winter comes down to. These awful weather conditions are the impetus for neighbours to help neighbours, whether it's this odd game of clearing eachother's driveways in some sort of socially constructed favour-returning schema, or helping people push their stuck cars, or whatever. I know it sounds cynical, and I apologize for that, but I would honestly just prefer if no one offered to help me, and no one expected my help in return.

I sat here after writing that last paragraph for five minutes reflecting on it. A part of me isn't happy with it; I feel as if it really is too cynical to print. It paints too negative a picture, and I've honestly always tried to maintain a positive outlook on life. It's all too easy to let yourself get sucked into a downward spiral of negativity in your day-to-day. Maybe my outlook is being coloured by the end-of-semester stressors? Looks like the debate in my mind has swung around again; I'm not ready to give up on humanity yet.

Maybe altruism exists after all.