My neighborhood has a bit of an odd, bad setup. It sits between two major roads, and sometimes people on one road think they can skip traffic by cutting through the neighborhood to get to the other road. The problem is it that doesn’t go all the way through and connect. Once you turn off the main road and into the neighborhood, the street just gets smaller and then splits into smaller streets that don’t go anywhere.
Every six months or so, some big truck will try to take this “shortcut” through the neighborhood, try to make too many tight turns on too small of roads, and end up stuck in a ditch. Then, the cops come and close off the road where the truck turned while the truck is cleared.
My house is about seven houses in from the main street.
One day, I pick my young son up from daycare and try to head home at about 4:30, only to find that the road is blocked right at the entrance to the neighborhood by a cop who looks very young. I don’t see a stuck vehicle, but I figure that’s what’s going on, so I decide, “Oh, well,” and take my son out to get some food.
Around 6:30, we come back and the road is still blocked, so I ask the cop:
Me: “Hey, is the road going to be open soon?”
Cop: “The road is closed.”
Me: “I know that. I was just asking if you had an estimate on when we would—”
Cop: *Cutting me off* “THE ROAD IS CLOSED!”
I don’t want to escalate things with a jumpy cop, so I take my son to a park. We hang out for a little bit until it is close to my son’s bedtime and he is getting tired. Around 8:00 pm, we try to get in, and the same jumpy cop is there.
Me: “Hey, can we just get through to take my son home?”
Cop: “The road is closed.”
Me: “I get that, but I can see my house. There is nothing between us and there. Can I please just take my son home to go to bed?”
Cop: “The road is closed. What you want is not more important than police business.”
Me: “Look. A truck gets stuck in here two or three times a year, but it’s never blocked the whole neighborhood before.”
Cop: “The road is blocked where I blocked it.”
At this point, a line is forming behind me of other cars trying to turn into the neighborhood. Luckily, one of those cars is another police car with some kind of supervisor in it, and he comes up to us.
Supervisor: “What’s going on here?”
Me: “Hey, I’ve got a little boy who’s past his bedtime, and my house is that one right over there with the maple tree out front. I was just hoping to get by and put my son to bed.”
Cop: “And as I was informing this man, the road is closed, and what he wants is not important right now.”
Supervisor: “Wait. This is for a truck in a ditch, right? Where is it even at? I can’t see it.”
Cop: “It’s at the corner of [Street #1] and [Street #2].”
Supervisor: “That’s miles down the road! Why on earth would you close the road here?”
Cop: “The road doesn’t go through. No one should need to get down this road to go anywhere.”
Supervisor: “Except for the people who live here! There are dozens of houses between here and the truck with people that want to go home. Did you think all those houses were just for f****** decoration?!”
The cop stutters for a second before replying.
Cop: “Sorry, sir, I was just thinking—”
Supervisor: “Stop doing that! You are bad at it!”
Cop: “Yes, sir. I will move the roadblock.”
Supervisor: “No, you will load yourself back in that car, go back to the station, and wait for me. Then, once I’m finished here, we are going to have a long discussion about how if you can’t figure out how to use both of your brain cells at the same time, you aren’t allowed to go outside.”
With that, the young cop moved his car, and I was finally able to get home. While I was glad to finally get my son to bed, I kind of wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for that conversation back at the station.
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