These Things'll Be the Death of Me

My school is in an old part of town. That doesn't really mean that the buildings are old, but that the streets were twisted and chaotic before they got finalized in ashphalt. So there are lots of blind corners, narrow alleys, and assorted household junk piled in or near the road.

My school is across the street from the facility where all the local cable-guys work. Not the office, but the lot where all the trucks park. The vehicles they drive look like minivans that have been squished from front to back, they're stuffed full of cables and tools, and they have a ladder on the roof.

These guys drive the vans like bats out of hell, and they keep the same hours as me. When I wind my way to work through the cities' alleys, there are a stream of them pouring out of the lot infesting the streets with big dangerous bumblebees. And they come back at lunchtime, about when I'm leaving work for home. Then, they're leaving again for the afternoon when I come back to work. I never imagined cable guys as the hurry-up sort.

So far, we've managed to miss each other on the blind corners. But if I had a dollar for every near miss, I could take a few days off with a clear conscience.