Maggie flipped her sign from SLOW to STOP at the last moment, and the Jaguar scraped to a halt. She knocked on the window. Her tinted reflection rolled away, replacing hard hat and orange vest with with a man: Tarantino-pinched face, tinted sunglasses, too cool to slow down. “What?” he said. “There’s nobody coming. Why can’t I go through?”

“Safety hazard, sir. Never normally do this, but I need to point out a serious problem, if you’ll come out of the car.” He looked suspicious, but got out. Maggie pointed to the front of the car. “Take a look up there.”

His back was to her as he looked. She set down her sign as she talked. “Look at the front bumper.” The bumper had a mirror shine. She took off her vest and hat. “See that? A real danger. Could cause serious damage any time now.”

“Don’t... see anything,” he muttered.

She slipped into the driver seat and restarted the engine. “It’s you, dipshit.” And she drove off.

He’d call the police and call the company, but she’d only worked for them since she’d traded their employee her car for the sign, hat, and vest.

Another asshole served.