Playing in traffic

I've spent many an hour working on highways. Some sites have been surrounded by concrete barriers; others have been surrounded by a few hundred dollars of plastic and some signs with stern warnings.

Working behind barriers isns't so bad, although going to the porta-a-can is a trip witnessed by many that you really don't think have any business knowing you're going to the port-a-can. It's a lot safer behind barriers, but coming and going can mean miles of looping around freeways to get to the site.

Working behind cones, or barrels, is a different animal. There's no concrete. The only thing between you and the front bumper of a Peterbilt is an orange vest and a t-shirt. Since the highway wizards don't want to impede traffic, many times the work is inches away from traffic moving at 70 miles per hour. This can be disturbing; especially when the drivers are pissed. They may shoot you the finger, dodge to make you jump, or throw a bottle at your head.

There are some good points. During night work, you can, and will, see some strange things. My favorite is the lovely young ladies after the bars close. They may flash you, or blow you a kiss.

Late one night, when I went to check the closure setup, I found a wrecked car sitting at the start of the lane closure. I went and looked in the car but there was nobody to be found. I had a sinking feeling because the car had spun against the barrier median and there was the possibility the driver was thrown from the car. I checked over the edge of the rail and the side of the bridge. Still nobody, so I called the police, they called a wrecker and the car was towed away.  I still have no idea who they were or where they went.

Drunks are a problem at night. Since they have a tendency to wander between lanes, they may destroy a few dozen barrels before you can blink your eye. This is bad, since the other drunks behind them get completely discombobulated. Eventually, they're all over the highway, everyone on site is wondering where to run and the thought of having to pick up the mess starts gnawing. Calling the police is fruitless. By the time they arrive, all the drunks are gone and nobody had the presence of mind to get a license number.

So, the reason I'm writing this post is to point out that the highway worker is only on the job. They don't dream up the design, arbitrarily shut down lanes of traffic or particularly like working where death passes all day at one hundred feet per second. Remember, the person you hit might be me, so be really careful now that you know I might be out there.