There’s nothing quite like a drive in the country. And as long as you don’t have a particular destination in mind, then I’m your girl. Generally, I like to be pretty loose about destinations because I don’t dig on maps. Just to be clear – I can read them, but it takes me a long time and I usually get dizzy from spinning the damn things around and around and around …
Anyway, a dear friend of mine came to visit and was keen for a drive to Toowoomba. I sigh at her choice of a specific destination. She knows what I’m like. She’s kicked me out of a car before for being “the most incompetent navigator she’s ever had the misfortune to come across”. On the upside, on that occasion, I got to drive her brand new Volvo. Apparently, though I wasn’t to be trusted with a street directory, she was totally fine with me being in control of the vehicle.
So, we made a deal. I would drive to Toowoomba with her expert navigational commentary from the passenger seat, and then she would drive home. That sounded easy. And while it was a solid plan, I must confess that it didn’t unfold exactly as expected. My friend wasn’t totally onboard with my “artistic interpretations” of right and left at a couple of key junctures, but we made it … eventually.
Toowoomba is a lovely town. We had a delightful lunch and enjoyed touring the sights. When it came time to leave, my friend chose a different route for the trip home, which was fine with me as she assured me that my navigational skills would not be required. Great! I relaxed and enjoyed the view – learning more about goat genitalia than I’d anticipated, or wanted – until we came across a sign by the side of the road.
It was a rectangular piece of silver metal, rusted around the edges, that looked like it had been dragged out of someone’s shed. Handwritten in blue paint were the words “Private kills” and then underneath, a phone number.
I glanced at my friend to see if she was memorising the phone number.
‘What are you looking at?’ she asks.
‘You,’ I say.
‘Why?’
I pause. If I lie, she’ll know, so eventually, I say, ‘Did you see that sign back there?’
‘Yep,’ she says.
I didn’t say anything. Though I thought I’d clawed back the ground I’d lost after my earlier failure to follow directions, I couldn’t be sure.
After waiting nearly a full minute, during which time I’ve revised my will in my head four different ways, she says, ‘It doesn’t mean what you think it means.’
‘How do you know what I think it means?’
‘Because I know you,’ she says.
‘So what does it mean?’
‘Animals – not people.’
‘Like a butcher?’
‘Abattoir/butcher,’ she says.
I sigh in relief, but add, ‘That makes sense, but I think their sign needs work. They should make it obvious that they mean animals – and not people.’
My friend shook her head. ‘Most people wouldn’t assume they that meant people.’
She had a point. The police must drive along that road, I reasoned. If they’d seen it, and it meant something sinister, they’d have done something about it.
∞
Addendum
I drove along that same road again a couple of weeks ago, and the sign in question is gone! At first I thought my initial instincts had been correct, and that the police had since shut down a rather unsavoury business enterprise. But, not so. I found another sign – which looks to have been there for a while – which makes everything clear. I think, in the excitement of the first sign I saw, I possibly overlooked this one …