The Mayfair Station

  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