Last night I drove by a construction site downtown where they’re putting up a huge hotel. Traffic was squished down to one lane because a crane twenty stories up had just scooped up an enormous dumpster, like the size of a truck really, and was raising it to the top of the building. This massive hunk of a dumpster was hanging from cables and swinging around high over the street. As I crept along, a guy in hard hat and an orange vest scowled and frowned at me. He pushed his hand to the ground in that universal sign language for “slow the hell down” and then yelled in a yodelesque voice not unlike Tony Randall, “SLOOOW DOWN!” His eyes met mine and I dare say, his were filled with fear and hatred.
Really, Hard Hat Guy? You think? You guys are dangling tons of steel over the street, but if there’s an accident it will be because I’m going 7 miles an hour? Oh, and tell me again why should I slow down? So that the crane operator guy has a better chance of lining up right on top me before he releases it? Wouldn’t it make more sense for us all to go really damned fast and get the hell outta here?
What sort of training do you get, Hard Hat Guy? Any statistics or logics involved? How about some engineering studies to show how well a little plastic helmet protects under the stress of a falling dumpster? Any of that type of stuff? Or do they just tell you about dangerous vehicles hitting skinny guys in orange vests? Say, here’s a plan: You may be able to conquer your fear of oncoming traffic by NOT standing in it. Just sayin.
I wonder if your wife thinks you look hot in your "uniform." I wonder if she rubs your back at night, and is turned on by your life of danger. I wonder if you would instruct her to linger under the dumpster. Maybe you would because secretly you know she mocks you and your dayglo vest to her friends and mother. Come to think of it, you're just plain sick of her shit. She's probably home blogging while you're out in all kinds of weather and speeding cars just trying to support her lazy ass and that of her ungrateful no-good kid who's probably on drugs. And maybe I look just like her…and maybe you’re on your two-way beepy thing telling the crane operator to LET IT RIP! End it. End it today. You’ve had enough of the bitch and this time, no one’s getting out alive, not while you’re in charge of traffic flow anyway. This orange vest isn't just for the ladies, you know. Yeah. Maybe that’s it.