It was August, and as most August days in the northeast, the weather was oppressively hot and sticky. For reasons beyond my comprehension, we chose this particular Sunday to drive from our air conditioned home in North Jersey to the Renaissance Festival, in Tuxedo, New York.
The traffic was horrendous and as we got closer to our destination it all but came to a halt. We’d been driving for close to two hours and were hungry, when I looked out of my passenger’s side window and spotted the guy in the car along side of us, eating a sandwich. Being the wise guy that I am, I opened my window and said, “I’m hungry, too.“ To our amazement, he stuck his hand out of his window and offered me half of his sandwich. I took it.
Who said New Yorker’s aren’t friendly?
Another time, we were invited to a Bat Mitzvah in Marblehead, Massachusetts, over Halloween weekend. If you know anything about Marblehead, then you know it’s a stone’s throw from Salem — Witch country. I know a little about Salem because both my son’s attended Salem State College, directly across from the renow Witch House where, in 1692, Judge Jonathan Corwin conducted his infamous Witch Trials.
We’d been advised by the hosts to make hotel reservations at least six months in advance of attending the affair because on Halloween weekend it’s impossible to find a place to stay. People come from all around the country to observe and take part in Halloween related festivities.
We would have enjoyed ourselves more had traffic not been so horrible, because Marblehead and Salem have no major roads — no highways, and to get from point A to point B requires making an incredible amount of turns. At one point we were stuck trying to get onto a turn-around. It felt as though we were driving through France because normal driving rules simply didn’t apply, as cars zigged and zagged and cut each other off.
Immobilized for an endless period of time we noticed a sign at a major intersection. We’d never seen one like it before and wondered if it didn’t perhaps account for the congestion. It read, “Caution, Elderly Crossing.” We wondered if Massachusetts senior citizens were permitted to cross at other corners also, or if they came from far and wide just to congregate and cross at this corner. It would certainly have accounted for the tie-up.
There are several signs I’ve noticed during my driving career that cause me to smile. A fairly common one, where I live in the country, reads: Caution – Deer Crossing Next 2 Miles. Every time I read one of these signs I am forced to question how the deer know that they aren’t permitted to go beyond that 2 mile limit?
It brings to mind an allegedly true story I read several years ago, that happened somewhere in the mid-west. A woman phoned the police department complaining that deer were repeatedly being hit by cars in front of her house, right where the Deer Crossing sign was posted. She requested that the sign be moved to further down the road so that the deer would not continue to cross and get killed, in front of her house.
Apparently mid-west deer don’t read as well as those in New Jersey.
Another sign that makes me laugh is: Do Not Pass. Every time I read one of those I have the urge to obey, by coming to a screeching halt.
My girlfriend, Janet, giggles every time she comes to a Yield sign. Her interpretation of what it means borders on XXX rated.
I like the sign I saw not too long ago that read, “Reduced Salt Area.” I’m not at all certain what that means, but it sounds like a great place for water retentive women to hang out.
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