On Roadside Refugees
Well, so ends another adventure filled week around the old mini Ponderosa. Of note, I was challenged to use the pretend word of “irregardless” in every blog I post (Does that count as a legitimate use?). Challenge accepted! But I digress…now cometh the latest and greatest edition of the diatribe.
So, while we were out on one of our little excursions I noted a rather odd trait of human nature. We seem to have a desire to exit our vehicles as soon as we come to a stop on the road. Now before you judge me and accuse me of cheating by carrying on a theme from the last blog stick with me here. I have a point…probably.
As you sit there basking in the warm glow your LCD screen, perhaps in the all too familiar pose of three fingers supporting the back of you smart phone with a pinky under it and thumb poised to type, I want you to close you eyes for a moment. Think back to the last time you were stopped for construction or an accident. Now, in your best guess, how many nanoseconds passed before the car doors opened and people started erupting out onto the highway?
From my now stationary vantage point I watched in my rearview mirror as one particularly laden mini van began erupting with people. A young lad sprinted across this newly formed parking lot (formerly known as a highway), hopped a guardrail, assumed the pose, and began marking his territory right on the side of a mountain. Much to morbid sense of humor, the apparent father meandered across the highway after him and, being the leader of his little pack, re-marked the same piece of terra firma as his own.
Some other fun little things you may see, if your very lucky, include the senior citizen out with her tiny pooch so it can face away from you and crank one out, or everyone around you looking to find the a-hole that starts honking (Yeah, like that will help pal). One must ask ones self, what exactly is it that compels a person to abandon the relative safety and comfort of their car and begin trekking down the road like a prophet of old fleeing to the promised land? Is it some small slice of nomadic DNA that is awakened by the sound of a transmission going in to park? Is it a misguided hope that they could pass on some helpful suggestions to the guy on the steamroller as to how he could hurry up? Or perhaps, and more likely, they need a break from the movie that’s been playing on a loop in the backseat since they left the old homestead in Minnesota and repeated renditions of “Let it Go” that are being belted out by an enthusiastic five year old.
Maybe the Roadside Refugees are on to something by fleeing their modern day prairie schooners at the first opportunity. Actually, as a parent, I can definitely see their point. What are your thoughts?