‘Bloody speed bump!’
The driver hit the brakes and slowed the car to navigate the bump in the road. Rubber rolled over rounded bitumen, emitting a soft murmur. Just as the tyres returned to the regular road, the engine roared and the car screeched back to life. Sun beat down on the tarmac, heat haze hovering in waves.
Smithy sighed. He was used to this treatment: long days in the sun, being constantly berated, the occasional scrape from a car bottoming out as it went too fast over his back. Smithy was a speed bump, and this was his lot in life.
Everyone hates me.
He watched the car disappear down the road, a gnawing bitterness growing inside him.
They all do. Even those who petitioned for me to be here come to hate me in the end.
A noisy miner landed on Smithy and pecked at a piece of dried grass which had drifted onto the road.
At first, they were all about making the road safe and stopping hoons from speeding, but as soon as it inconveniences them for a few seconds, it’s ‘bloody speed bump’ like everyone else.
The bird cocked its head, dropped a small poo, and flew off with the grass in its beak. Oblivious, Smithy continued his train of thought.
No, ‘There’s good old Smithy keeping our road safe’ or ‘Good job Smithy, keep it up.’ It’s always a complaint or at best, a sigh—never a kind word.
Smithy felt the blazing sun on his back and tried to let his resentment go. It would be another long day and the shade wouldn’t reach him until late afternoon. No point exhausting himself with worry when the day would take care of it for him.
Instead, he reflected on his first day on this road. Fresh and new, he had been so proud, so ready to make a difference and become a regular respected member of the community—maybe even get a photo with the mayor and a feature in the local paper.
‘Local speed bump saves lives, loved by all,’ it would read.
How silly he felt now to have been so optimistic. No praise, no paper, no photo. All he had were long days, lonely nights and continual complaints.
Another car rolled over him and sped away.
Smithy sometimes thought he should be proud of himself despite the naysayers. No matter what anyone thought, most still did slow down because of him, and that made the road safer. That made a difference. It would just be nice to have recognition once in a while.
Maybe I should just leave.
His resentment had quickly returned.
Take myself off this road and show the people what could happen if I wasn’t here. Some idiot P-Plater will wrap himself around a tree and then they’ll wish they’d been kinder to me.
A heavy truck creaked across Smithy’s back. The weight was nothing to him—he was built to be passed over by vehicles all day and every day. It was being ignored by those behind the wheel that weighed on him more heavily than any truck or bus.
The truck stopped a couple of hundred metres down the road and a handful of workers tumbled out and began unloading equipment. Smithy thought they looked like the workers that had placed him here.
Would be nice if they came to say hello. See if I need anything, patch some cracks or a bit of resurfacing.
Like everyone though, they paid Smithy no mind and carried about their own business. Resigned to a long hot day with no appreciation and no company, Smithy drifted to sleep awaiting the cool of the afternoon.
***
Smithy awoke as the tyres of a large Ute slammed into and juddered over him.
Bloody hoon. Slow down!
He recognised this particular Ute as one that never slowed properly for him and was surprised now to see it halt quickly not long after it had sped away. The road ahead was partially blocked as the workers from earlier toiled in the afternoon sun. A young woman stood before the Ute with a red lollipop stop sign, her pink hi-vis vest in stark contrast to her expression of utter boredom. She slouched against the sign and flicked through her phone as the Ute revved its impatience.
She looks as bored and unappreciated as me. Perhaps we could be friends?
At some unseen signal she looked up, flipped the sign to yellow, and waved the Ute on. This dance continued for another hour or so, yellow to red and back again, cars to and fro, until the workers began to pack up. The lollipop woman hitched the sign over her shoulder and walked back to join the rest.
Everyone has some other place to be.
Shadows from nearby eucalypts crept onto the road as the last tools and equipment were loaded into the back of the truck. With the road now cleared, Smithy could see what they had been working on. It was a brand new speed bump. Trepidation crept along Smithy’s spine.
What’s this?
The last of the workers shuffled into the truck and it rattled into life. Smoke chugged from the exhaust as it moved away leaving behind the new speed bump, glistening in pristine tar and crisp white paint along its edges. Despite his misgivings, Smithy thought it looked quite impressive.
Do they mean to replace me? Why not just resurface me if they thought I was getting old?
Smithy was thinking furiously on the meaning of this new speed bump, and what it might mean for him, when his thoughts were interrupted by a voice from down the road.
‘Excuse me. Hello?’
Not having ever been politely spoken to before, Smithy wasn’t sure if this was directed at himself, or how best to respond.
‘Er, hello,’ he said, finally.
‘Hello, hello!’ came the excited voice, which Smithy now discerned came from the new speed bump. ‘My name is Sandy. I’m just starting on this road and I’m so glad someone else is close by.’
‘My,’ Smithy paused, gathering his composure. ‘My name is Smithy. How do you do?’
‘Have you worked here long?’ asked Sandy, ignoring Smithy’s question. ‘It’s my first day you know. Oh well, of course you know, I just said so didn’t I. I wonder when my first car will come by.’
Sandy gave a nervous laugh. Smithy let her ramblings roll past and returned to the initial question.
‘I’ve been here just over a year.’
‘Wow,’ said Sandy. ‘How exciting. You must love it here. I am so excited to be part of this road, to help make it safer.’
Smithy felt a tinge of regret as he recognised in Sandy what was once his own naivety. He hated to disappoint her, when she seemed so eager, but it was better for her to know now.
‘Well, it’s not all that great,’ he said. ‘There aren’t many kind words that come our way. Most people seem to think they’d be better off without us.’
‘Really?’ said Sandy, surprised. ‘That’s not what the workers were saying.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, they reckon a speed bump on this road has saved lives. They were talking about it when they put me in. Said the council had agreed to put in another because so many people in the community believed it had been—well, you had been—a great help.’
‘They, they said that?’ said Smithy. ‘I didn’t think anyone cared.’
‘They must do,’ said Sandy. ‘That’s why I’m here. I sure hope they talk about me like that someday.’
Smithy felt a surge of pride that he had not felt since his first day here. If only someone had said this sooner. If only he could have said it to himself.
‘Th-thank you Sandy,’ said Smithy, still in awe. ‘You are very kind.’
‘You’re welcome, Smithy.’
The sun was edging closer to the horizon and shadows lengthened over the road. The oncoming night had always intensified the solitude for Smithy, but now the prospect did not seem so bleak.
‘So, anything to look out for here?’ asked Sandy.
‘Oh, a few hoons now and then. There’s this one guy in a Ute who never slows down for me.’
‘Well, we’ll show him. He’ll have us both to contend with now, won't he?’
Smithy chuckled to himself. It would no doubt be a long night as always, and another long day after that, but for the first time in a long time he was looking forward to it. For the first time he wasn’t alone.