... it would have been THE. PERFECT. SHOT!
But I didn't get it. I didn't get it!
Because I am a lily-livered, cowardly chicken, that's why. If I had a shred of chutzpah, this post would have been adorned with the consummate illustration of road crews Hard-Not-At-Work.
Today as I neared home from a day at the office, I rolled up to an intersection of the highway that's been ripped asunder since, oh FOREVER. Since the light had just turned red, I scrambled at the opportunity to snap a fantastic photo when I counted ten, count 'em TEN orange-vested, hard-hatted construction workers posed in various motionless, un-working stances.
Three were deep in conversation, tools used only to prop themselves upright. Talking about anything but the job at hand, I'll wager.
Two were squatting: mesmorized by a river of water dribbling from one of the supply trucks parked in the corridoned-off, yet newly-paved lane.
Another four, all with their arms identically crossed in front of their chests,
smirking at watching the endless line of vehicles crawl past at a snail's pace.
The tenth fellow almost looked busy.... at least he was sitting in a small front-end loader.
Which wasn't running, of course.
It really is a misnomer that they are called "Workers".
Unfortunately, just as I was lifting my camera to snap the previously proclaimed Perfect Photo, one of the "workers" (leaning on his shovel, natch) turned his sunglass-covered eyes RIGHT AT ME.
Crap! I dropped the camera on the passenger seat and stared straight ahead praying I could make my escape unscathed.
Was I afraid of him? Well, duh. He had A SHOVEL, remember?
I sat there pretending nothing was amiss, all the while imagining him tapping on my van's window with his
weapon implement. Finally the light turned green and I sped off, cursing my bad luck.
And my spineless poultry-like demeanor.
So I didn't get a shot of them. Instead, I'll just leave you with a picture of ME.
*Cluck, cluck, cluck.*
Chicken Little image copyright Walt Disney Studios
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