One of the roads on which I drive to work has been closed for construction this week. Serious construction. A trench has been dug and lots of mysterious looking yellow tubes are being placed into the trenches. Too small for water or sewer, my bet is fiber optics, but I've heard speculation that it's those damn Commies trying to fluoridate our water again. Or maybe that's just a bad memory from my childhood. But I digress. The road is very clearly marked as under construction. There's a big, very BRIGHT orange sign indicating ROAD WORK AHEAD (none of that sexist MEN WORKING crap for our little town). There are numerous orange traffic cones blocking access to the road. There are multiple construction vehicles and workers milling about (generally far more workers than vehicles, but that's another rant). There are no cars driving on the road.

Well, almost none. You see, there are people to whom the signs and the cones and the bulldozers and backhoes mean nothing. They are not like you or me. They are exempt from such nonsense and constraints. These are the same people who blow through red lights after the light has already turned green in the other direction. The ones who park in handicapped spaces because "they'll only be a minute". Those who drink coffee, read the paper and talk on the cell phone, all while driving at 75 mph. Simple common sense and even more common courtesy do not apply to them.

Such was the case this morning. While a line of traffic waited to make the turn so as to avoid the road that was closed, we were all entertained by the woman in a Suburban the size of Rhode Island who insisted on trying to enter the road. It was only when her access was physically blocked by a big yellow piece of equipment (I can't tell a front end loader from a dump truck, but it was big and menacing looking) that she reluctantly tried to turn around. I counted four times that she had to back-up to get that behemoth shifted 180 degrees. (This is where I am in a bit of a glass house situation - perhaps just glassine in this case - because we used to own a fairly monstrous, though not nearly as gargantuan, Expedition. It was when we started to feel the pinch of its enormous appetite for fuel that we traded it in.)

Anyway, she got turned around (after blocking traffic while the ass-end of her vehicle oozed out into the cross street), and she started to drive away from the scene of her idiocy. She quickly realized that something was not quite right. Other drivers were yelling and pointing, but she apparently couldn't hear them, or was too embarrassed to acknowledge their words of advice. She finally got out of her tank, walked all around it looking for the cause of what must have been a distinct dragging sensation and scraping noise. Somehow she missed the big, bright orange traffic cone that was now firmly wedged behind the front wheel on the driver's side. I had to drive off at this point, but I'm betting that cone is still accessorizing her lovely blue Suburban.