I don't know. Maybe I just have problems with authority. In fact, I know I do. I haven't taken "because I said so" since I reached age 8. So I'm certainly not going to take it as an adult. This resulted in somebody threatening to have me arrested today.

Again? I thought, wondering if it's not just, somehow, my destiny to wind up in the clink. Does anyone else ever say "clink"? Probably not.

This is what happened:

I was driving down Rt 97 ( which I am beginning to think I just simply ought not do any more, since it's not exactly turning out to be a lucky road for me)

I had left for work early, because I'd agreed to meet Friend Will for lunch at Panera, before I started my shift. As I drove, I noticed a car in front of me and a sherriff's vehicle going along up ahead of me with its lights flashing. Must be some trouble up ahead.Sure enough, as I got to Hood's Mill Road, the opposite lane was blocked by a piece of fire equipment from a volunteer firehouse up the road. It was just sitting there. A black pickup truck whipped past it, in my lane, which brought no reaction from the driver of the sherriff's vehicle which turned onto Hood's Mill. The car ahead of me floored it past the emergency vehicle, going by so fast that the hat of an elderly man who was reaching into a car along the sholder almost blew off his head. He had to catch it with his hand.

Whoa! That was unsafe! I thought, and slowed way down to avoid doing anyone any harm. Just as I did so, the old man plopped a cone in front of my car - it's a good thing I WAS going slowly - scowled at me and gave me the universal signel for "turn right" He looked like an old dairy farmer, or just some guy who happened to have cones in his car. He could have been anybody. After all, I could buy some cones and plop 'em down anyplace and wave my hands around.

I slammed on the brakes and shook my head. I leaned out the window. "What's the problem?" I asked him.

"The road's closed."

"It wasn't closed a minute ago." I said, as he set down the second cone.

"The road's closed." he repeated.

"It wasn't closed for the person who damn near blew your hat off your head! It's only closed for me 'cause I slowed down so I didn't hit you! What's the problem with the road?" I asked again.

He made a universal signel for "I give up" in the direction of the fire truck, which turned out to have volunteer firemen in it.

One of them, a good looking man in a perfect looking uniform opened the door to the fire truck.

"The road's closed." He yelled.

"Okay, what's the detour?" I asked.

"It's closed!" he said in that firm strong voice people use when they think they can end an argument that way.

I shook my head in disgust. "What's the detour?"

"I'll have you arrested!" Fireman Good-Looking said.

Not again! What's he gonna charge me with? Asking for directions?

I pointed at my ear. "I can't hear you." I yelled. I could hear him perfectly. He either couldn't hear me or wasn't paying attention. Clearly extremely disgusted, he got out of the vehicle and approached my car.

I tried again, "How can I get around the problem?"

"It's a hazmat situation. It's closed."

"Okay, I understand it's closed, but I still have to get to work."

"You can't get around it. It's a hazmat at the rail tracks"

"Well, this can't be the only road that crosses the rail road track. What's the alternate route?" I said, aiming for reason.

"You'll have to turn around." and he moved to turn away from the car.

"Sir, I'm just asking you for a detour! When you close a road, isn't it somebody's job to direct traffic? I'm not one of the women who lives in a huge house down here with nothing to do and all day to do it! I don't know this county at all but I need to get to work!"

He looked at me. This time I had on a pair of sunglasses and a suit jacket, so perhaps I looked less like someone to jack with then I did yesterday when I met Porky the Auto Inspector.

"Where does this road come out?" I asked, gesturing strongly at Hood's Mill. I could tell he didn't know, so I said, "If you don't know, just tell me you don't know."

"It's closed." he said.

"This road to the right? Hood's Mill road? It's also closed, as well as Rt. 97?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yes, it's also closed at the rail tracks because of the hazmat. You can't get through. Just go home and call your boss."Are you out of your mind? I almost asked. Just then, the back door to the firetruck opened and another man got out. Not nearly so good looking or so well turned out. "Oh. He'll tell you where to go."

"Hi, howya doin'?" the second fire fighter asked. "Where ya tryin' to go?"

"Rockville." I answered. He thought about it.

"Where at in Rockville?"

"Off Gude Drive." I answered.

He thought about it some more. "Hmm. You live around here? You know the area much?"

"Not at all."

"I know it's frustrating." he said, sympathetically. "The roads are really windey all through here. It's complicated if you've never been on them before. I really, honestly think that the best thing to do is turn around and get onto Rt.26 - you know 26?" I nodded. "...and take that over to 70 and then you'll pop out down there on the other side of the rail tracks where the problem is. You know what I mean? I think that's gonna be fastest for you."

"Okay, I appreciate that. I know those routes. Thank you for your help."

I looked into my rearview to back up and saw another pickup truck behind me, very close. I turned the wheel sharply, because I didn't want to hit him, but I didn't have a lot of room.

"Hang on, let me help you out. I'll ask this fellow if he can back up a little." The friendly, but not good looking, fireman said.

However, the fellow driving the pick up could see the problem, and he backed up any way. He began to talk to the fireman and I manovered the car into the other lane. Just as I did so, the fireman gave me a hand signel "Wait"

"Hey!" he said, "this gentleman's going to go over and pick up Rt 144. He knows the area. Is that any help to you at all?"

"Yeah, that would be great!"

"Sir, do you mind if this lady follows you? She's not familiar with the roads around here."

"Sure, no problem" the guy said he leaned out and said to me, "You gotta make a right up here." and he did, make a right onto Hood's Mill Road.

"I can follow him?" I asked the fireman.

"Yep."

"Okay! Thanks!"

Hoods Mill wasn't closed at all, not at the tracks or any other place. Fireman Good Looking had just told me that so he wouldn't have to say "I don't know."

I understand that firefighters have an aweful job. They face all kinds of things, see all kinds of things most of us would just drop over from dealing with. And I understand that those men were volunteers, that they weren't getting paid to help me or anyone else out. I realize that you can't have people driving through accident scenes, putting every body in danger and spreading hazerdous material all over the place. I'm all for citizens following the directions of police, fire fighters, and other civil authorities. But you have to tell me who you are, and, to a certain extent, what's going on. All the old guy with the cones had to do was come up to the car, explain that he was with the fire department, or whatever outfit he was with ( who knows, maybe he WAS just some old guy who happened to have cones handy) and give me some clear directions. 'Cause I'm the last woman in the world who's going to side track onto some unlined side road in the boondocks because some guy in a ball cap told me to!

It's like I met the best and the worst of the types of people who volunteer as fire fighters: the second guy, intent on helping out the largest number of people and solving as many problems as he could, the first guy in it to have the authority and wear the uniform. I bet that guy is still cursing me out "what a b---- I met today!" Well, so be it.

Note to self: time to get maps of all the counties I travel though and several alternate routes to work.