You’re sitting on Main Street watching the fuel gauge plummet like the Leafs’ 2009 Stanley Cup odds.
Outside the SUV, dust piles up on the new wax as if a volcano just blew into Rupert Park.
You add gas station and car wash to list of places to visit. There is plenty of time to safely write as you play stop and go through the west end of the once small town.
That T-bone you asked for medium/rare is drying out on the barbecue at home, and it’s well past well done. The dog has been eying it for 20 minutes.
If you needed a new excuse for being late, you’ve got it.
Because “I hit every light between Gormley and Stouffer Street red again, sweetie, honest. I was not at the (insert track, bar, cigar shop or buddy’s house) this time,” doesn’t always work.
An appointment of mine last week blamed tardiness on the construction legitimately, I think.
On the bright side, you get a better look at those stores you drive by every day as you race to work. The stores that sponsor the Strawberry Festival and pay to have their names on your kids’ hockey and soccer jerseys.
Greetings from Constructionville.
Main Street is undergoing major reconstructive surgery from the Joan Rivers league, as if you needed a reminder.
Don’t say you weren’t warned. We’ve written about the oncoming construction for at least a year.
And get used to it for another couple off years, in sections.
But, until that massive shovel cuts through the pavement and traffic is diverted onto bumpy, snail-like trails, it means little to motorists.
But, try and get home from the grocery store, all of which are on the west side of town coincidentally, without the burgers and potato salad turning into salmonella, and it hits home.
We’re human. We’re like that.
Jim Mason is editor of The Sun-Tribune.