Coming back from a meeting this evening, I – along with dozen other cars – was greeted by a huge tractor trailer (articulated lorry) blocking the road between Joppatowne and Beautiful Downtown Bradshaw.
The driver was backing up and pulling forward, obviously trying to back into a lot on the side of the road. After waiting what seemed to be ten minutes, but was probably only one, I got out of my car and asked what the problem was. The truck was too high to fit under the railroad bridge. Lovely.
I asked if he’d stop dancing around long enough for the cars behind me to see if they could go around him. He was sort of “Kitty-Wumpus” but there was enough room on the shoulder for me to get past in my little Nissan. I walked back and told the man in the car behind me, and then drove off. I did roll down my window and called to the people on the other side that “he’s too tall to go under the bridge” and let them make their own decision to “turn around or go around”.
It is, as Roseann Rosannadanna said, “always something.”
thisendoftheswamp 