If all of you folks on the other side of the river--that's how all of us folks on this side of the river smugly refer to those who reside in the hinterlands north of the Great Watery Divide--haven't researched plans to avoid the certain Armageddon in our soon-to-be collective congested futures, I have nothing but sympathy for your soon-to-be inconvenienced commuter souls.
The portentous date is looming large. (I wonder--does anything ever loom small?) It's rearing its ugly head in our rearview mirrors and bearing down like some tailgating, rogue 18-wheeler barreling down I-40. September 28th. That is the date that the boys at the Highway and Transportation Department will shut down our iconic Broadway Bridge to begin its demolition. I predict that date will be remembered by embittered commuters for generations to come. Future grandfatherly raconteurs who survive this man-made catastrophe will spin endless, well-embellished stories to their eyeball-rolling grandchildren about the epic traffic snarls that plagued motorists from North Little Rock to Bald Knob. "... back in '16, when I was a just a snotty-nosed kid playing what was called video games on crude, antique smartphones, cars lined up dang near as far as Missouri. Lines purt' near as long as the 12-items-or-less express checkout lanes at the Walmarts."
I already have nightmarish visions about how it's all going to go down September 29th; 911 call centers will be smokin' with emergency phone calls from panic-stricken commuters screaming about endless episodes of road rage. Fights will break out every five or six bumpers apart. Fisticuffs, verbal assaults, smashed glass. Kicked-in doors, hoods and fenders will be everywhere. And that's just from the married couples riding to work together.
On weekends during our six-month tribulation, entire families will pack coolers of Dr Pepper and Pepsi, picnic lunches of baloney sandwiches, Ruffles, and Oreos, and Kroger bags stuffed with Disney DVDs for their Sunday afternoon drive. Their destination will be to simply get across the river. Three days later the sleep-deprived, disheveled family will return home from their "afternoon drive," having progressed only halfway across the gridlocked I-30 bridge.
If, like me, you are always on the prowl to make a quick buck, even if your financial manipulations sometimes take advantage of the misfortune of others, here are a few guaranteed-not-to-fail inside stock tips. Rush out immediately to your broker or whip out your laptop and pull up your E-Trade account and buy all of the stock you can in the following sectors:
• Health Care. Or more specifically: emergency room contractors. Think all that road rage and the thousands of irascible motorists.
• Publishing. Or more specifically: publishers or printing companies that specialize in police blotters. Think all that road rage and the thousands of irascible smart-alecks who back-talked one time too many to the nice policeman.
• Transportation. Or more specifically: tow trucks and wrecker services. Think ... OK, now stop and do just that--think. This one should be a no-brainer!
• And lastly--Food Trucks. Think congested, snarled, endless lines of steaming cars filled with all those congested, snarled, starving families whose picnic baskets were depleted of baloney sandwiches, Ruffles, and Oreos midway through the second day of their Sunday afternoon drive. All those food-truck tacos and food-truck noodles will be viciously fought over. And when the dust settles the circle goes unbroken ... back to Health Care (see above).
As I was pondering our certain Central Arkansas Armageddon and scheming about how I could maybe find an alternate route that no one else had considered (fat chance that!), an elegant solution popped into my head. So simple. So obvious. So straightforward. I'm surprised that the state highway boys didn't come up with it first. But then, simplicity and elegance isn't exactly their strong suit. Case in point: the recently completed Big Rock Exchange Amusement Park Ride.
I ran to my shop, grabbed my tape measure, and drove downtown. I parked in the Clinton Presidential Center parking lot. I ran up to the abandoned railway bridge, resurrected a few years ago as a "pedestrian walkway." I stretched out my Stanley. Sure enough. 18½ feet wide. More than enough to accommodate two lanes of traffic, albeit a little tight. But so what? Half of the streets in Little Rock are at least that ... err ... "cozy."
Voilà! Problem solved. Armageddon averted.
Well ... except for one little problem standing in the way on the south end. There seems to be a sizable stainless-steel trailer-house-on-stilts blocking the right-of-way for the much-needed off-ramp.
I pondered this ostensibly insurmountable obstacle to my alternate route over a couple of cans of Miller Lite when a solution hit me like a wadded-up stained blue dress. I whipped out my Samsung and called the Trump campaign, which I figured could use a little good press right about now. The nice campaign assistant who took my call put me right through to The Donald himself. He was in his office strategizing with Stephen "Flamethrower" Bannon about how to walk back the degrading statements that he had spewed about (insert any controversial public figure or public policy here).
He assured me that he would personally finance the demolition.
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Bill Rausch is a freelance writer from Little Rock. Email him at williamrausch25@yahoo.com.
Editorial on 09/24/2016