(UN)RELIABLE SOURCES: 0003
Saturday Morning on
Mineral Spring Avenue

by FRANK O'DONNELL
MAY 7, 2006

Saturday morning. 11:15.

I'm at the Ace Hardware in Centerdale.

My mission: get to Marieville for a noon appointment with my hair stylist.

No cut-throughs, no alternate routes.

Straight shot – Mineral Spring Avenue all the way.

I know what you're thinking.

He's a daredevil. It's impossible. It can't be done!

I like living on the edge. Always pushing the envelope.

I'm off.

I find myself immediately in a Centerdale Circle traffic jam. There's a wine tasting at Sak's, and it looks popular. Ironic – they're drinking, and I'm the one not driving.

11:20. I'm at the light at the start of Mineral Spring Avenue – Yacht Club to the left, School Department to the right.

The light is green, but I'm standing still.

The wine-tasting traffic jam has backed up to the top of the Circle. Folks think nothing of pulling into the intersection on the yellow light, completely blocking my right of way.

The clock's ticking, but I'm not worried. There's plenty of time to get to Marieville.

I congratulate myself for showing more patience than the motorist behind me, who zipped over the traffic island, weaving between the bumpers of jammed-up cars, even going the wrong way on the Circle.

Three changes of the light later, I'm moving again.

11:25. I'm at the light outside the main fire station. There must be a 47-alarm fire somewhere –apparati spew onto Mineral Spring Avenue, one piece at a time. They're headed east – in the direction of Marieville – and I'm tempted to employ a cut-through.

My resolve remains firm. I've got 35 minutes to travel less than 3 miles. If I were on Route 95, I could be at a mall in North Attleboro or Warwick in that time.

11:30. I'm moving slowly through the cloud of dust left by the fire trucks in their mad dash eastward. The Getty sign at Smithfield Road – the one that NASA astronauts formerly used for orientation purposes while flying over New England – remains small in the distance.

11:35. I'm past the Getty station, but for some reason, the traffic's at a standstill in front of the high school. The line snakes down the hill to Douglas Avenue.   
       
For a fleeting moment, I'm tempted to do what others are doing.

Flip on my left turn signal and jump into the center lane, sailing down to Rizzo Ford unmolested by traffic, like I'm going take a left at that light. When I get to Captain's Catch, I'll raise my hands in a desperate and overplayed expression of helplessness, so the other drivers don't realize that I did it all on purpose. Then, whether allowed or not, I'll merge sharply right.

But that would be cheating.
I will not do it – not this time, anyway.

11:40. I'm at Captain's Catch. A guy on my left raises his hands desperately as he realizes he didn't intend to turn left on Douglas Avenue. Uninvited, he merges sharply into line in front of me. I'd honk and yell, but it's my neighbor down the street. He'd just honk and yell back, so why bother?

11:45. Chicken tenderloins are just $1.69 a pound when you buy ten pounds at Shore's Market. While I crawl past the market, I call home to relay the news.
"I'm going to Shaw's later," says my wife.

"No, Shore's," I say, trying to emphasizing the R.
"Oh, you mean Mac Shaw's."
Also known as Little Shaw's. It's so tough to get that R in.

Green peppers are 69 cents a pound at Mangiarelli's. That must be a good price, because people are blocking the intersection at Lexington Avenue to get there.

11:50. The traffic's moving a little better, and I get through the intersection at Woodard Road pretty easily – only to come to a complete stop at the Burger King.
Now I'm stuck. The way Route 146 bisects the town, my only cut-through option would be to double back, and that would just be counterproductive.

11:55. I'm at the lights at Route 146.

12:00. I'm at the lights at Stop & Shop. I've failed my mission.

I call the salon to let them know I'm running late.

"Actually, you'll be early," says Mary Beth. "Your appointment is next week."

Next week, I'm cutting through.