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by Rick Walton
It seems like every other day now some city is trying to give away a bridge. A couple of months ago I was looking through the classifieds in a national newspaper that I read for laughs and came across the heading "Bridges--Used." I scanned the ads for bridges, thinking it might be fun someday to get one, when I could afford it. It's not the purchase price that's the trouble, there were only a couple of cities who were trying to make a profit on their antiquated infrastructure. Most were happy to let you have the bridge for free, as long as you paid the transportation costs. But one ad caught my eye: "Take our bridge, PLEASE! We pay all transportation costs." Then it gave a number to call.
On a whim, I called the number.
"Have you found a taker for your bridge yet?" I asked the lady who answered.
"Not yet, are you interested?" she said.
"I might be," I said cautiously. "Why do you want to get rid of it? Is it dropping chunks of concrete on your ducks or something?"
"Oh no," she said. "The bridge is in almost perfect condition. It's just that...well...since that plastics plant went in up at Bellsville, all the waste has solidified the water. People ignore the bridge now and just walk or drive on the river."
"But why get rid of the bridge? Can't you just keep it for decoration?"
"Nope, liability problems," she said. "On weekends kids keep getting drunk, taking off their clothes, and diving off the bridge. We've got volunteer firemen on duty to catch the kids, but one of these days we're going to miss, and somebody's going to sue. We just can't afford it."
"I see," I said. "That could be a problem."
"It really is, so you see why we have to get rid of the bridge. Do you want it?"
Suddenly every fantasy of my childhood welled up inside of me. "Yes," I said, "I'll take it."
She was very excited. I gave her my address, and she said the bridge would be at my doorstep in seven working days.
Seven days later there was a knock at my door. When I opened it, a dust-covered truck driver with a clipboard under his arm said, "You order a bridge?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then sign here." He handed me the clipboard, and I signed next to his X.
Then he turned and yelled, "This is the place, Bob. Unhook the rig."
"Right Jack," Bob answered back.
I looked in the direction Jack had yelled. It was then I got my first look at my bridge. It was sitting on a flatbed trailer, a HUGE flatbed trailer. The trailer was three blocks long and as wide as the street. "You're leaving it there?!" I asked.
"Where else?" said the Jack. "Do you want it in your garage? Or maybe we should stick in it your tool shed?"
"But in the street?" I said. "It'll block traffic."
"No it won't. Look at them tires."
I did. The tires were about twenty feet tall. There was a good ten feet of clearance under that truck bed. I could see Bob directing traffic under the trailer.
"We borrowed it from NASA," said Jack. "Makes for convenient freeway driving. You can roll right over the slow traffic."
I hadn't realized the bridge was going to be so big. I thought maybe we were talking about your small New England covered bridge, something I could use in my yard as a decoration. This bridge was larger than several towns I'd lived in.
"But what do I do with it now?" I asked Jack.
"How should I know?" said Jack. "It's your bridge. All I know is that we gotta pick that trailer up again, without the bridge, on the 24th."
Bob drove the truck up to the front of my house, and Jack hopped in. "Lots of luck," said Jack, "and enjoy your bridge. Me, I'm more the tower type." Then Bob revved the engine and they sped off.
"Now what am I going to do with a bridge?" I asked myself.
Any suggestions? I really need help.
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