Overview:
In this short story, Presence News founder Kasdyn Click recounts a memorable winter snowstorm from 2017 while operating a snow plowing company responsible for a large apartment complex. What began as a routine multi-day storm response slowly transformed into a lesson in winter risk, human behavior, and liability when one resident’s vehicle lost control on icy conditions and triggered an unexpected accident and lawsuit.
Blending firsthand experience, dark humor, and the realities of snow removal work, The Springwood Hills Slip and Slide captures the unpredictable nature of winter storms — and the stories that stay with crews long after the snow melts.
Short Story Time at Presence News with Kasdyn Click
I believe it was the winter of 2017.
At the time, I owned a snow plowing company that held the contract for a medium-sized apartment complex—about 175 rental units—known to us as Springwood Hills. We were no strangers to the property. By then, we had a full year of experience servicing it and were heading into our second anniversary of winter snow service.
Normally, a two-inch snowfall was nothing. Routine. Clockwork.
Even four feet of snow in a single dump? Challenging, sure—but manageable within a 12-hour cleanup window.
This storm, however, was different.
Three Days of Snow, No Real Break
Instead of one heavy blast, the storm dragged on. Light snow fell steadily for three straight days, quietly stacking up to 36 inches. That kind of storm is brutal—not because of the depth, but because expectations don’t stop falling just because the snow does.
Property owners often want things “clear at all times,” even while the storm is still ongoing. So for days on end, crews, owners, first responders—everyone—were grinding nonstop to keep roads passable and people safe.
We were prepared.
We even had our own apartment inside the complex so drivers could rotate shifts, grab naps, and stay functional.
What we couldn’t prepare for… was the Honda Civic.
Everyone Knew the Honda
There was one resident who lived at the top of the complex. He owned a Honda Civic and had a habit of coming and going at all hours—usually around 1 a.m.—with a very noticeable cloud of marijuana trailing behind him.
Pre-legalization days.
Honestly? The smell didn’t bother us. Neither did whatever business he might’ve been involved in. In that area, it wasn’t unusual. Springwood Hills was Section 8 housing, and we used to joke among the plow guys that the nicest cars in town always seemed to be parked in those lots. Steady government rent checks have a way of making car payments easier.
What did bother us were his bald tires.
Every driver on our crew knew about that Honda. We had watched it slide around the complex all night, every night—tires spinning, brakes useless, gravity doing all the work. We even tried to help him once, suggesting he park at the bottom of the complex across the street where it was flatter.
He refused.
Didn’t want to walk far in the cold.
Fair enough—but physics doesn’t negotiate.
We watched that Civic slip down the north entrance hill more times than we could count. Parked. Brakes locked. Still sliding. It was mesmerizing in the worst way.
So we adapted.
Unspoken rule: stay clear of the Honda.
The Storm Ends… Almost
Eventually, the snow stopped. Final cleanup time.
I was sitting in my Silverado with my girlfriend Annie, eating a McDonalds McChicken, watching one of our drivers—Clark—pull up to the final stop sign at the complex exit. Relief washed over us. The job was done. Until the next snowfall, we were clear.
The sun was finally out. Temperatures were creeping just above 22 degrees. We had laid down a final layer of bulk salt—no treated salt, because the property owner didn’t pay for it. Bulk salt barely works under 22, but the sunlight was just starting to activate it.
Conditions looked good.
But they weren’t.
Enter: The Slip and Slide
Out of nowhere, the Honda Civic came barreling down the hill.
Confident. Too confident.
All four tires locked up.
Screeching. Sliding. Completely out of control.
We watched—helplessly—as the Civic slid straight into the back of our 2002 GMC Sierra one-ton dump truck, equipped with a two-yard stainless steel salter. Clark had already stopped at the sign. There was nowhere for him to go.
Impact.
Then chaos.
The Civic driver jumped out, yelling that he had broken his neck, flailing around on the icy pavement. The Honda sat in the intersection, doors open, engine still running.
Before any of us could even process what was happening, EMS arrived—astonishingly fast. Within a minute or two, the driver was loaded onto a stretcher and gone.
Just like that.
The Aftermath
The Honda remained where it was—abandoned, running, blocking the intersection.
Police from the New Britain Department eventually arrived an hour or two later and asked where the driver was.
“We think he left in an ambulance,” we said.
“The car’s still here.”
Our salter and bumper were damaged. Not catastrophic—but not minor either.
Later, the driver filed an injury lawsuit against the company. His attorney claimed Clark had backed into him from the intersection. Police said they couldn’t definitively prove fault.
And that was that. We lost all profit at the company for two years worth of work defending against the lawsuit.
One Storm, One Story
That incident was just one moment during a massive storm where we were servicing 75 properties simultaneously—each with its own challenges, personalities, and unpredictability.
Among snow plow crews, stories like this stick. They become shorthand. A name. A reference point.
We still call it:
The Springwood Hills Slip and Slide.
This story may or may not be true.
But anyone who’s plowed snow long enough knows—
it feels true.
More at Presence News:
