Suburban Squint

At least, that's what it's called in the Philadelphia area, where commuters from the western suburbs drove into the city, facing the sun, in the morning -- then again when they went home at night. My dad was lucky; we lived east of Camden, so he never drove into the sun to get to/from work. Well, not until the division he was in moved to Voorhees.

On Wednesday, Gym Rat told me about a new pizza place near the gym, and he was amazed that I didn't even know buildings had been constructed there. "I never drive that way. How should I know?" was my defense. So, after my workout, I headed down that street to see where the place is located. I didn't see it. In fact, I didn't see any buildings. It was all I could do to see where the road was supposed to be and any cars, which were more-or-less less blindingly bright than the sun.

This time of year, I leave the gym just before sunset, and with no trees (in the desert?) nor tall buildings (in Las Cruces?) to block it, the setting sun is right in my face. It's not "suburban squint" so much as it is "suburban yeow-that's-bright!"

Yes, thank you, I know that my car has sun visors, but I can't use them. Well, I can use them, but then I couldn't see through the windshield. Yes, I am that tall. In fact, the rear view mirror, helpful though it may be, blocks a third of my view out the right side of my windshield. I have to duck my head and look under it to see if there are any cars to my right. (That's a lesson you only need once!)

It's probably better off for me to hang out at the gym until sunset, so I'm not a hazard on the road. It's probably better that everyone in town does the same -- well, not at the gym, because it's not big enough to hold everyone in town...