Stop/Slow

Last weekI was subbing for the English teacher at North Campus. It's a 45 minute drive for me - one that is perpetually peppered with construction (did you like that? Perpetually peppered?). The last three minutes of the drive (consisting of one left turn) often takes fifteen.

I don't mind, though. Gives me a chance to put on my makeup. Or, I mean, ponder things. Like life...and recycling.

This day, though, I was weaving my way through the maze of orange cone-barrels (what are those things called?) and passing the construction workers that spread themselves out along the route holding the STOP/SLOW signs, and a short, dark haired construction worker woman was idly spinning her stop/slow sign watching one of the street sweepers do it's thang. I don't blame her. Street sweeping trucks are fascinating. I mean - where does all the dirt go?! It enters the spinny brush thingy, and then...no trace.

A little bit miraculous.

A little bit creepy.

As I approached her, the construction worker lady stopped spinning her sign and leaned into it, still watching the street sweeper. The STOP part was facing me.

Yes - I knew she wasn't paying attention.

Yes - I figured that I wasn't actually supposed to STOP right there in the middle of the road with no cross-traffic to speak of.

But - there was this STOP SIGN right in front of my face! I couldn't ignore it. So I stopped.

The car behind me stopped, too.

Finally, she looked our way. First, confusion. Then, recognition. Then, a quick, jerky movement and her sign told us to merely SLOW. She motioned gruffly for us to drive on, shaking her head at me in annoyance.

I flashed her a smile as I drove by.

She was bright red.