Everybody's Got One
A blog. An opinion. An elimination orifice. A dream. An agenda. A past. A hidden talent. A conceptual filter. A cross. A charism (often the same). A task. A wound. A destiny. A lost love. A blind spot. A bad habit. A secret. A passion. A soul ... okay, maybe not everybody ...
Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Served very cold  

Last week, the city on its wisdom defaced my street with a series of speed bumps. As you might gather, I am not amused. If there is, in the universe, something I might easily categorize as justice, then the man who invented the speed bump (and we all know it had to be a man, don't we?) deserves to spend eternity as one. Similarly, anyone who works to secure their placement anywhere outside parking lots and private driveways - say, on residential through streets - deserves to spend a non-trivial portion of their afterlife lying right alongside him.

What truly chaps my behind about this installation (besides the one at the very bottom of a 20 foot hill: somebody merits a special beating for that one) is that the lead neighborhood busybody behind this monstrosity used to live two doors down from me. Used to, I say, because she and her family moved away this past summer. Would that I could send the construction crews to afflict her new neighborhood; but alas, that's a county away.

It's not like no one could have seen this coming. She began her campaign of harassment of the department of public works when her son was 4½, and began to cross the street by himself. She was, of course, aghast, and determined that the world should change to accommodate her parenting skills and lifestyle choices. Unfortunately for us, she had a great deal of time on her hands, and a persistent manner. After a year and a half, the city caved.

In the meantime, her son had grown ready for school. Now, the public schools around here are nothing to write home about (assuming you manage to gain your literacy skills somewhere else). Time and again, over 20 years, I've watched young couples buy here before or just after their first child is born, only to move out as that child approaches first grade. The rare exceptions are those who tap their steadily-rising equity for a line of credit to pay private school tuition. Like clockwork, they come, and they go, to some other school district.

But this one left a present behind. I'll think of her often, as I travel daily over the Margaret Memorial suspension-killers. So will we all, left behind here. May she sleep soundly through her new life, blissfully unaware of her scheduled appointment with karmic accounts payable.

posted by Kelly | 5:34 PM link
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