Construction sites always remind me of the Flintstones.
Hulking beasts, rumbling along across a rubble-strewn landscape of lane closures and traffic cones. While most vehicles are designed to be sleek and aerodynamic, with chrome and high-lustre paints, construction equipment is bare bones. No glossy fur and lean lines, it’s monolithic, awkwardly shaped, and purposeful. Dinosaurs in a world full of panthers.
Bobcats might have feline names, but in my mind they are triceratops and brachiosaurs rumbling about carrying things from place to place.
Giant dung beetles deliver loads of concrete.
Despite its lack of tiny arms, the backhoe is clearly the king of the dinosaurs, the T-Rex.
Construction workers as the Neanderthals in an inaccurate portrayal of the earth’s history? Maybe. They’re loud, gruff, and work as efficiently as possible (a trait I have no doubt actual hunter-gatherer societies share) to get the job done. No construction work is ever not in a rush. Despite how you might feel, sitting in a traffic jam caused by construction work, it’s not dragging on forever, it’s being pushed and pressured with deadlines. Not quite life and death for the individual dinosaur-riding construction worker, but certainly for the construction company as a whole.
However, their volume is in competition with the sheer volume of construction. If you come up with a way to chip concrete in silence, please – PLEASE – for the love of all that is holy, let me know. Same applies to any brilliant ideas in which construction produces no dust. Think more Barney Rubble the friendly neighbour neanderthall, less “WILMAAAAA!!”
Where have I been the past few weeks? Let’s just leave it at Yabba Dabba Doooo! and try not to throw a fit in the car next time you creep slowly past road-work. We can see you in there.