“Behold...the Obvious”

We had driven my VW bus as far south as Guatemala, and now, three months later, we were back in the States.

The road conditions in Mexico were unpredictable, to put it mildly. The only actual warning sign I recall was one that said “Peligroso.” Next to it sat a dirty orange cone.

This was about a month into the trip, and by this time I was getting used to not knowing what kind of road was around the next corner. When I spotted the sign AND the orange cone, I did not take it lightly. We were in the mountains at the time, navigating some blind curves, so I was pretty focused.

Around the corner from the sign the road disappeared. Gone. Road - no road. Instead, there was a several hundred foot drop down the side of the mountain. In order to proceed you had to drive right against the side of the mountain on the thin strip of dirt which once served as the road’s makeshift shoulder. Now it was the makeshift road. The word “makeshift” could not be overused in describing my Mexico driving experiences.

Then we were back in the USA. My two traveling companions and I were tired to the point of punchiness, but for some reason were driving on into the night.

Around 1 a.m., somewhere in Texas, we saw the first warning sign: “Uneven Pavement Ahead - 5 Miles.” As we got closer, the signs and cones - big, Texas cones - increased to the point where it looked like an airport runway. There were huge signs which graphically depicted the treacherous unevenness of the pavement which we were about to endure. There were signs that warned and prepared and warned again. Something drastic was about to happen just up the road a piece, and I have to admit that I was a little concerned.

Remember, I had just spent three months in Mexico, and had only been in Texas for a few hours, so my brain had not made the proper adjustments. If one dinky sign and a janitorial-sized orange cone foretold a drop to certain death, then these thousand cones and signs must mean that Satan has split the highway and I am about to plunge into his rumpus room.

I tightened my seatbelt a little and held on as I saw what was clearly the final notice.

Uneven Pavement Now!

“Dink.”

No, it didn’t even go “dink.” The pavement level dropped three inches, and the difference was nicely beveled for an easy, American transition.

Thousands of signs were placed to warn of a - what? It certainly could not be called a bump. Or a dip. Or even a ripple. It didn’t feel any different, really, than driving over a painted white line.

-----

This is printed on the lid of my plastic thermos cup: “Caution. Contents may be hot.”

Contents may be hot. They may also be corrosive, radioactive, toxic, hallucinogenic … who knows what the hell people are putting in their thermal cups?

I think it should read: “Caution. Contents may be lukewarm.” What’s worse than lukewarm coffee?

-----

There is a new playground in my neighborhood.

My neighborhood happens to be in the Rocky Mountains, and it is currently the official dead of winter, which means that the playground has lots of snow. Since you can play in snow, and you can play on a playground, this seems to me like a winning combo.

The playground is smallish, about the size of a big back yard. Recently, a big sign was posted at the playground. It reads: “Use Caution in the playground. Winter conditions may exist.”

I’m not sure what sort of extra winter caution one is supposed to use in a playground. Does the slide ice up, thereby making it … slippery? Maybe the monkey bars develop stress fractures from the drop in temperature.

Sure, there is the obvious danger, that of freezing your tongue to a metal post. But I tend to think that kids who do this are not quite reading at a level which allows discouragement by a government sign. No, at that age, discouragement is meant to come from the parents.

My mind drifts back to my grade school playground equipment. I’m remembering the May Pole, a giant metal hoop suspended around a center pole by several chains. The kids knew that the May Pole was like a roulette wheel, only instead of a stack of chips, you would win a trip to the hospital to get your arm encased in plaster. The May Pole had the highest payoff rate on the playground, 500% higher than the half-buried tractor tires.

We had no sign reading, “Use Caution. Gravity may exist.” We had an innate sense that the May Pole occasionally demanded a sacrifice, so we either took our chances or we didn’t.

[Next time: “Use Caution: Experiences May Be Lukewarm.”]

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