“I can’t write, but you can”. I fumble for the keys to the car. maybe I could have chosen a different way to encourage her to start that novel. Why the hell won’t she listen to me? she has the gift. she’s the one with the english degree - well, mostly... just that last semester. I’m the one sludging across town in this beat down oldsmobile to a job a loathe. I hate friggin spreadsheets.
begunk. begunk. begunk.
“Seriosuly? a street sweeper?” Why is this dude driving his Elgin 4000 down the road during rush hour?
begunk. begunk. begunk. Who the hell makes those reflector things anyway? I mean, what are they made of, plastic? metal? is the reflective stuff tape based? paint? I wonder if they are bolted in, or set in the asphalt while it is still molten? Seriously, how big is the factory that makes those things? I wonder if it is state law that requires them to be there? I mean is it some mom and pop operation that is run out of one of those over-sized garages in their back yard? How big does the road have to be to necessitate them? Do you have to be certified, or have some kind of licensed engineer to install them? Who decides how many of them to put on a given lane divider? three? four? how big was the committee who decided on the number? I wonder if I can steer fast enough to hit just one....
begunk. begunk. “dammit”
chick-tick. chick-tick. chick-tick. how long have I been driving with my blinker on? friggin street sweepers. chi-clak
I bet anyone could put those things in. There’s no way you’d have to be certified. there’s no way a mom and pop shop could make these things... they must be all over the country, it has to be bigger than that. I think I saw round ones when I drove through Virginia last summer. These aren’t quite square... at least I don’t think they are. Kinda hard to tell at fifty miles per hour. And if a street sweeper can’t keep up with traffic on the street, dude should take a smaller road. It’s not like he’s actually doing his job right now. I bet he’s a democrat. he was probably the committee chairperson on how many bumpy reflectors to put in each line. Let’s do the math, Telegraph is about.... okay, wait, each line is about three feet long... no wait... they just look that short because I’m going so fast. so each line is.... six feet? eight? okay, and if there are...
begunk. begunk, begunk.
begunk. begunk. begunk.
… three bumps per line. and let’s say there’s ten... no, fifteen feet between lines.... let’s call it twelve for easy math, that’s three bumps every twenty feet, so that’s six point six (repeating) feet per bump... no wait, I’m doing this backwards. How big are these bumps anyway? They seem tiny, but the must be an inch or so tall. maybe a half inch. crap. twenty, eight, three... six point six.... ok, so twenty feet equals three bumps. five thousand feet. well...
“fifty-two eighty” I say to myself remembering my aunt who couldn’t shut up about living in the mile high city.
so five thousand, two hundred and eighty divided by twenty, that’s two hundred, then sixty... four, times three bumps per, that’s seven-fifty... seven... ninety something. so eight hundred bumps per mile per lines. wait... are these things on the side too?
okay, so in the yellow, they’re much further apart. Hell with it. there’s no way a mom and pop shop could do this in their back yard. I wonder what it costs to manufacture these things. Do they even make these here? CAN we even make these things here? maybe they come from China like everything else. Even if that street sweeper was cleaning the street I bet those little brushes wouldn’t clean between and around the bumps. Hell, they probably damage the reflectors. I knew a guy in college who would find the street sweeper bristles and file them down into lock picks. I don’t know if he ever actually used them or if he just needed to have something to do with his hands. What a prick. I bet he got a job driving the street sweeper. I bet he was on that committee who decided how many bumps per mile should be required. He probably even has an uncle who owns the company that makes the bumps. I bet he’s a democrat.
I smile with the smug satisfaction, confident that I know everything about this guy... or was it a woman. crap, I didn’t look.
I bet she was a democrat.