Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Yelled at....


Yoga class is nuthin' but trouble these days! 

I had a hair-brained idea to WALK over to yoga.  I walk pretty fast and thought it would take me about 15 minutes.  Would be a nice warm-up there and good, peaceful, yoga, namaste reflection on the way back.
Besides the 4-lane road in front of the yoga place is all torn up and traffic is mad-house.  There are barriers up and sign holders and one direction is closed off completely to traffic.  Perfect solution, I'll walk!

I got to class on time, set my intentions, had a good, peaceful yoga experience.  On the way out, I decided to cut straight across the road vs. using the walk/bike path.  I could take another route back to work for a change of scenery and it looked like it might be a little more direct.

There were NO cars anywhere in sight... all the large work trucks and equipment for the road project were way at the other end of the torn up street and I crossed.

There happened to be a sign guy near my path of egress.

He began waving his arms and saying something....

And this is the part that kills me,  I actually stop. 


He keeps gesturing and moving his mouth...

I say again, "What?"

He moves closer still, trying to communicate with me.

A third time I repeat, "What?"

And finally he is close enough for me to hear.  "Can you HEAR my VOICE?"

He's wearing a hard hat, big ol' 70's mirror style sunglasses and sportin' plenty o' facial hair.... like that band member from The Muppet Show... the drummer I think.   Anyway - it's hard to read his facial expression and I obviously can't hear him very well.

I say, "Well, NOW I can."  and I remain standing there.

I'm not sure what pearls of wisdom I thought he would impart to me but it was sunny and warm and I was in my peaceful yoga frame o' mind.  Maybe he is the Buddha coming to bring enlightenment.

He goes on to say, "Do you SEE the barriers and the trucks and this sign I'm holding?   What do you think they are for?"

I look down to the end of the street confused.   I look back at him.

"Uh, cars?"

He proceeds to say something about they are barriers to keep the area clear.

And I say, "Really?  Even for people?"

And I say this remaining completely confused, because at this point I really have no idea what he is trying to convey to me.  Why did he follow me across the street and why is he asking me these questions?  (did I also mention I have a cold and I've been working a ka-trillion hours and this is the first time I've seen sunlight other than on my way in to work in a long time?  Maybe this is why I was being so obtuse.  Well, that and the guy was also a soft talker... unless that was just the snot clogging my ears and he was really speaking at a normal volume...??)

And he says, "Who do you think DRIVES the cars?"

At this point the low wattage bulb goes on above my head.  

Ohhhhhhhhh, I get it!  He's mad at me!  

I tell him, "OK, OK  I get it." in a roll your eyes tone of voice because seriously, what the hell, I just walked there and all the guys next to the bike/walking path stopped their trucks and their work and actually WAVED me across along with two bicyclists.  In FRONT of their tucks so close that I could touch them.... and now on my way home there were absolutely no cars or trucks or equipment anywhere near me and I have this guy chasing me down, with his big STOP/SLOW sign in his hand to yell at me? 

And there were cars coming which he was completely ignoring, not holding his sign to direct them or to stop them from driving into his co-workers a few hundred yards away cuz he was across the street yelling at me.

I turned my back on the guy and begin walking away because what is it exactly I'm supposed to do?  I'm already across the street.  He followed me or a little while still going on about the importance of his job and the barriers and why he is there and who he is there to keep out.  I kept walking back to work.

Boy.  He most defiantly was not The Buddha coming to me with enlightenment.   Tho' he was trying to enlighten me in a manner of speaking.

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