I swear road construction must have a secret contest to see who can confuse the most drivers before lunch.
You're driving along, minding your own business, and suddenly... ROAD CLOSED.
No warning sign a mile back.
No detour sign.
No helpful arrow.
Just a barricade sitting there like it magically appeared five minutes before you did.
So now you're making a three-point turn with fifteen other confused drivers, wondering if you're part of a parade you never signed up for.
At that point I started thinking... should I have gotten out and asked the construction crew for gas money?
"Excuse me, since I had to drive an extra mile because nobody thought to put up a warning sign, are you all taking up a collection?"
Seems fair to me.
Gas isn't exactly cheap these days. Every trip to the pump feels like you're making a down payment on someone's vacation home. Then you add in the extra driving because somebody forgot what a detour sign is, and suddenly your little trip across town turns into an unexpected road rally.
Now before anyone gets worked up, I'm not knocking the people actually out there sweating and doing the work. Those men and women earn every paycheck.
I'm talking about whoever plans some of these projects.
Some roads get treated like they're performing open-heart surgery.
They don't just fix a pothole.
They dig until it looks like they're searching for dinosaur bones.
By the time they're done, I'm expecting them to hit the Earth's core and report back that it's a little warm down there.
Then after months of cones, barrels, orange signs, flaggers, lane shifts, temporary lane shifts, temporary lane shifts, and enough blinking lights to land an airplane...
The road finally opens.
Everyone celebrates.
Two winters later...
Guess what?
Back comes the orange army.
Apparently the road warranty expired right after the snow melted.
Sometimes they cut out a section of perfectly decent pavement and patch it back together so unevenly that your suspension files a complaint before you even get home. You hit the patch and your coffee ends up introducing itself to the headliner.
And don't even get me started on traffic lights.
Michigan has some intersections where you sit at a red light long enough to contemplate your entire life. Nobody's coming. No cross traffic. No pedestrians. Just you... waiting... while the traffic light apparently has trust issues.
Then the second it finally turns green, the next light a quarter mile away turns red.
It's almost like they're synchronized by someone who lost a bet.
I know roads need maintenance. I get it. Weather, heavy trucks, freeze-thaw cycles—it's hard on pavement.
But maybe, just maybe, we could try a revolutionary concept:
Put up warning signs before people reach the road closure.
Crazy idea, I know.
Save everyone some time, save everyone some gas, and maybe reduce the number of drivers making illegal U-turns while wondering if their GPS has entered a comedy show.
Until then, I'll keep a few dollars in my pocket.
Not for toll roads.
For the next road closure that sends me on an unexpected sightseeing tour of the county.
Maybe I'll politely ask for a reimbursement.
I don't expect to get it...
...but at least it'll give the construction crew something to laugh about while I'm burning another gallon of gas.
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