Apparently the designers of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city planners of San Francisco did not have the slightly amnesiatic driver in mind when laying out the roads from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Bay Bridge so one can get from point A to point B without having to get distracted by point C. We ended up at point C. No one wants to end up at point C.
“NS, I think we may have taken a wrong turn back there.”
“Why do you think that”
As I point to a dead end sign on the right, “Well, I see a dead end sign right there.”
“Steve, that doesn’t look like a regular dead end sign.”
“What do you mean, it very clearly says dead end.”
“Uh, yes, you do have a point it does say dead end, but it is written in Crayon.”
“And, your point is?”
“It is written in crayon on what looks to be a flattened out Twinkie box taped to an old ski pole stuck in the ground.”
“Good point.”
“Hey, let’s ask the old guy what the deal is, he looks friendly enough.”
“Oh sure, I’m a stranger and still stuck calling you Not Sally, but this friendly looking old guy sitting in his lawn chair on what I can best describe some sort of false representation of a dead end is ok to talk to?”
“Well, I’m not going to talk to him, you are.”
“Oh, well I hope he doesn’t hit me over the head with that hammer sitting next to his chair, because you know to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail.”
“Steve, stop stalling and go ask him what’s with the dead end sign.”
“Fine.”
I get out of the SUV and NS promptly locks the doors, nice.
“Hi, I’m pretty sure I’m Steve, what’s up with the sign?”
“Hi pretty sure I’m Steve, can I call you PSIS for short, Steve is a really hard name to remember.”
“Uh, sure, what’s with the sign?”
“Too much traffic.”
“What do you mean too much traffic?”
“Too many people driving crazy down my road, so I put up a dead end sign and now no one comes down here except to ask me about the sign.”
“Your road?”
“Yes, I’m Ffred and this is Ffred Road, you know point C when traveling from point A to point B.”
“So you are saying, you are Ffred and this is a Ffred end?”
“PSIS, I never thought of it that way, but I do think I’ll just call you Steve, PSIS sounds too much like a slow leak in a bicycle tire.”
“Ffred, if I promise not to drive crazy, can I use your road to get to the Bay Bridge and head toward Livermore?”
“Yes, would you like me to tell you how?”
“That would be awesome.”
“Well, first you have to ignore the dead end and make sure you don’t stop to talk to Ffred. He is a little off his rocker, if you know what I mean. Who goes around setting up fake dead end signs to stop people from driving down his street? And, don’t get him talking, especially asking for directions, because he will start telling you about how he survived the big one of 89 by hiding in his neighbor’s bathtub with an old bucket on his head yelling ‘the end is near, the end is near.’”
Hoping Ffred will not notice, I slip away back to the SUV and knock on the window, because NS still has the doors locked. I wait patiently for NS to unlock the doors.”
Ffred still going on “and, you know a moose got in my kitchen once. Out at Yosemite, we were skipping through the woods, when a moose jumped out from behind a tree and followed me home. It got in my kitchen and was eating all my brussel sprouts. Mind you, the only way to get a moose out of your kitchen is to lure it with a bit of moose nip.”
NS unlocks the doors and I climb in.
“Quick, NS, let’s get out of here, that was a close one, we almost got stuck at a Ffred end, besides, if we take a left there I think I see the on ramp for the Bay Bridge. And, I am pretty sure Ffred is more obsessed with mooses than the guys from Monty Python.”