Express Paving
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JtioBIzAJtcpU5JhQtOxrWzVkbP_Qib-llerfPG0Oopr2M4fkfQb6N6myNCHa7FN7N8kRNNioKHk_D8VYFGG_kOg2jfhdHFW-3s118bMSAzHplooQO3vUi24D2kA5FveejmC759ZgiSYxbLGTi8VEP4Ui3uqSewld6M6fA8xsTyg6mdrQkUcj0L7EEs/w624-h640/IMG_8480%20(1).jpg)
My job has me doing all sorts of things. Today at work, I did a walkaround with a paving contractor. I led him around various areas of the parking lots and shipping areas of my worksite so that he could get us a quote for filling in potholes, seal-coating, and all that. Listening to him talk about what needed to be done took me back to the days of my early childhood, when I was supposed to be imprinting upon my dad. In the 80s my dad owned a company called Express Paving. He had an office in a building on Elston Avenue, a stone’s throw from our house. His work truck was a red ‘78 Ford Ranger, with the company logo emblazoned on the doors. During the spring, summer, and fall, the truck served as the company workhouse, and during the winters, a snowplow was affixed to it. If the truck wasn’t helping to make parking lots, it was plowing the snow from them. For reference, the same view today (as best as I could using Google street view). Not much seems to have changed in thirt