Tag: 191st Street (IRT Broadway – Seventh Avenue Line)

Spoiler alert: I’m dropping an “S” bomb in the first paragraph, so go away if you’re easily offended or not an adult. I am not liable for your corruption or questioning of authority (although I support your doing so). Also, while this column may be laced with intermittent negativity it will attempt to have a happy ending. But no promises.
Thursdays seem to be pretty heavy traffic days no matter where you live. I think it maybe has something to do with all the people who show up late or slack or whatever during Monday thru Wednesday. It’s like they think, “Shit! I’ll try and get there early on Thursday, put in a little more than a full day (to make up for the previous days’ slacking) so I can leave early on Friday afternoon.
The problem with this kind of thinking is everyone else has the same mindset. So, even though you leave 10 minutes early for the commute to work, you still only get there just barely on time (if you’re lucky). That’s because everyone has the same idea. But the construction that is going on across the country road-wise is incredible and something to consider when it comes to factoring in the time it takes to get from point A to B.

I know the road construction is well overdue. We’ve needed it for more than a couple decades. But they’ll be hard pressed to catch up in time to keep from inconveniencing us for the next several years. What is a shame is that with the kind of mobile technology and 3-D printing we have going on now, we can’t somehow have materials that will last for another 50 years.
Road construction technology, like car manufacturing methodology, mostly remains archaic. It is on purpose. Just like the fact we drive gasoline and oil powered vehicles still–relics of the 20th century. If we actually are committed to this mode of transportation going forward we should build and repair our roads with materials that will better stand the test of time.
But we don’t.

Just take a look at that pothole that was recently patched. It’s coming apart worse than it was originally due to all the freeze-thaw cycles we have been having recently. It’s kind of like dental work. They drill into your tooth, extracting the decay and making room for the silver filling. But road patches don’t last nearly as long as dental ones do. And when they come apart again, more of the road gets chewed up in the process.
I never thought I’d live to see the day where I’d be making an analogy between dental fillings and potholes. But there are worse things, I suppose. Like lines at the airport. Or, like lines that cars form to make up traffic on Thursdays when we’re all trying to get to work early so we can leave early on Friday. Which leads me to another thing. Besides sentence fragments, that is.
What’s up with people who leave work early on Friday? Everybody has a “thing” they have to get to or attend.  The truth is that the thing they have to get to is an adult beverage. It’s like the lines of cars that jam the entrance to lower downtown Denver when the Rockies are playing–the businessmen specials. I suppose that is not politically correct to call those day games in the middle of the work week that. But, the stadium is packed for them nonetheless.
I often wonder what kind of “business” gets done at these games. My guess is not a whole lot. That must be why they try to leave home ten minutes early on Thursday mornings–to make up for their missing Wednesday afternoon at work.

Now that I think of it, this column should have been about why a four day work week contributes to more productivity than the traditional five day week does. But, then again, I wouldn’t have been able to riff on things like potholes and such. So how could it not have been prudent to save the merits of the four day work week for another column?
Although it doesn’t make me happy that this sweet spot is over for now once again, it does bring me a smile knowing it hasn’t been a complete waste of time to have been here. What do you think? Is this a happy ending or what? Happy or otherwise, it’s ended. Get over it. It’s finished. Kaput. Done. It’s so final it isn’t funny. But could it be called happy? I don’t know. I can’t make up my mind. Maybe I should open an automobile suspension shop so I can rake in all the dollars from cars needing alignments whose front ends were swallowed by gulleys formerly known as potholes.