405 freeway construction

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405 freeway construction

All I wanted was razor blades and a hot dog.

No, I wasn’t planning a last meal before I offed myself. The blades were for my razor, since the one I used that morning was dull, no doubt thanks to my wife’s usage (Thanks Honey!). The hot dog was supposed to be lunch. The plan was a quick trip from my office on San Vicente Blvd to Rite-Aid on Wilshire and then a quick dip into the Wienerschnitzel for a hot dog. Then it would be back to my office so I can continue to make myself look like a superhero to all of my customers. Sounds simple enough, right?

Well…no. Far from it. As a matter of fact, the next time I need to go anywhere is this part of town, I’m either hoofing it, busting out the Segwey or riding the Vespa. I’d don my cape and fly there, but I don’t want to attract too much attention.

It should be illegal to have this many roads under construction. I couldn’t go a block without running unto a large orange sign with an arrow, directing me down a street that was in the opposite direction from where I needed to go. Explain to me how sending me to the La Brea Tar Pits was a good detour? And to add insult to injury, there was a traffic jam. Did you ever see the scene in “Office Space” where the guy with a walker was moving faster than Peter was in his car? Yeah, it was like that.

I finally manage to loop my way back around to Wilshire, but now I’m a half mile from where I need to be. So, I figure, if I got detoured going to right coming down San Vicente, if I’m coming back up San Vicente and I turn right, I should miss the construction.

Um, no. That plan failed, too. Now I was headed toward the 405, and although it would only be mid-day traffic, by the time I get to the closest exit and weaved my way back through Brentwood, I would make it back to my office just in time to watch everyone else leave. So, I darted down a side street and came out of San Vicente, this time in the middle of the detour.

Ever notice that there is never anyone working? All the equipment was there, the supplies were there. If I were a less honest person, I could have thrown a bunch of stuff in the back of my truck and cleaned up at the flea market. But instead, I mumbled about our tax money at work, and headed back in the direction of my office. It was obvious I wasn’t meant to have that hot dog, and I could;d skip the shave tomorrow morning. My wife and my employees prefer the rugged, 5-o’clock shadow look, anyway.

I parked my car and headed back into the office, feeling defeated. Once again, the California road system and the repairs to maintain it had bested me. I walk into the office, and every one is eating.

Hot dogs. From Wienerschnitzel.

Sensing my confusion my receptionist grabbed a hot dog and hurried over to me.

“You look like you could use this,” she said.

“How did you get these?” I asked.

“The Wiener Wagon drove by,” she said.

Oh, great. The first time in 10 years that wagon is out and about, and I missed it because I was getting detoured in Brentwood.

Grateful the saved me a hotdog, I turned to go into my office and resume my day. I sit down at my desk and check my voicemail. I had one message and it was from my wife.

“Hi honey, just warning you that traffic is a bear with all the construction around the office, so you might want to order lunch in. Oh, and by the way, I picked up new blades for your razor. Love you!”