Bridge to Burdock

   Decided to make the trip into Burdock this morning, to see about clearing up the ‘parking ticket.’
   Had a lght rain last night. The TooMuch Creek was up over the water-bridge.
   As I drove my truck through the ford, I realized how the water-bridge could stand a new set of flat-rocks to widen it some.
   But my truck sloshed its way accross and up the other side. So then it was a matter of driving on into Burdock and get to the
Weener Township Hall.
   I come in through the front doors and am greeted by the clerk, "Yess," she greets me, "And the nature of your business??"
   Putting the ‘parking ticket’ on the counter, I reply, "There seems to be a practical joke going on, I found this on my windshield yesterday."
   The clerk gives the notice scrawled accross the piece of manila paper towl and pushes her glasses up, "Everything seems to be in order here."
   "How?" I point out, "It’s a written on a paper-towel."
   "Don’t look at me," the clerk explains, "The township hasn’t raised your taxes in years, so we have to economize in places."
    "But it’s written out in felt-tip marker," I try to make obvious.
   The clerk looks again, "Yes, you’re right, but that obviously appears to be Greg’s hand-writing, and it’s only five bucks, why not just pay it, and save us all
the inconvenience."
   "It’s the principle of the thing," I say stubbornly, "From what I remember, there was no parking space marked when I pulled in."
   "And where did you so happen to park?" the clerk inquires.
   "Where I usually do, on Main Street in front of the Pizzia and Fine-Eats."
   The clerk stops, like she was filling in the blanks, "Maybe Kippatrick ought to look into this, your in luck, the Judge is back in town today, he’s in the Magistrate’s
Office right now," she nods me to the Magistrate’s Office.
   I walk in and Judge ‘Patrick looks up from a cup of coffeee and some paperwork he is examining, "Can I be of service?" he starts, and then the bars of his white
moustache twitch, and then he says a deep voice, "Ohh, Business?"
   "In a way," I reply, and place the hazzily written ticket on the Judge’s desk . 
   The Judge’s moustache twitches as he scans the document before him, and then he punches the intercom, "Bernice, have McIntyre meet me over in front of
the Burdock, I want to get this settled up, I’m busy right now."
   The clerk gets on the radio to Greg McIntyre, and the Judge and I cross the street and walk over to infront of the Burdock Pizzia and Fine Dining.
   I’m explaining to the Judge, "And this is where I always park," I’m pointing ourt the place in front of the Burdock, "And I come out and find that under the wiper."
   Just then Greg McIntyre pulls up in his ’78 El Camino that has the Weener Township official decal on the door, and steps out.
   McIntyre walks deliberately up to the Judge and adjusts his broad-brimmed hat, "Well Judge," Greg says slowly, "I hear there is a matter you need cleared out."
   Judge ‘Patrick holds the parking-notification under McIntyre’s nose, "Do you know anything about this?’
   Greg looks over the manila towel, "Seems to me that shortly after noon on yesterday, I was to find a vehicle in this location parked outside the confines of the
pavement markings."
   "But they were bogus," I object, I go over to the spot, "They were not here when I pulled in," I take a second look, "And they’re not here now,"
   Both Greg and the Judge come over to see where the bright orange marks have been washed away by the overnight rain and are only faintly visible.
   Judge Patrick examines the faint marks, "But it appears there were markings of some sort, there has to be a logical explanation."
   Greg considers a moment, and then without moving his head, says in a louder voice, "Ernieee!"
   And sure enough, the hatch pops open on the old Sherman tank on display on the Burdock village square and out comes Ernie Stubbs.
   Ernie comes toward us in his quick steps, "Whaddya want? Whaddya want?"
   "Ernie Stubbs," Judge Patrik’s moustache is twiddling, "Did you have anything to do with these pavement markings?" the Judge nods over to the faint bright orange lines.
   "Sure ," Ernie retorts, "The Downtown has been getting upset over the haphazard parking, so I put in some lines for people."
   The Judge arches his brows.
   "So you can see for yourself, Judge," Greg notes, "There were township markings present when I wrote out the said-notification."
    The Judge studies the markings further, his moustache twitches, and then he asks by way of statement, "Ernie, and so you got the paint down at
handy Hanks."
    "Oh no Judge," Ernie explains to Judge Kippatrick, "Hank wants too much, the paint came from over at the Biig Clubb,  I sprayed  them in myself," Ernie
catches himself.
   The broad-brimmed hat comes up a bit, "Erniee," Greg says from behind darkened-sunglasses.
   The Judge’s white-moustache shows a slight bit of an amused grin, "Well Gentlemen," the Judge adjudicates, "The pavement markings were present, but appear to be in a non-permanent form, a probationary period of sorts, so I tell you what," the Judge looks at the three of us in his no-nonsense expression, "I think I know a way to resolve this issue in a matter satisfactory to all parties,"
    
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About offroad2084

Work on the Work In Progress, MyDay in HicksTown. A light-hearted look at life in the fictional town of HicksTown in WeenerMan Township.
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