Scene: a smoke-filled backroom somewhere in San Antonio, Texas. A highway planning session is in its concluding moments.
Boss: So there you have it. Any questions, comments, concerns?
Jenkins*: Sir...what about the northbound exit?
Boss (imperiously): What?
Jenkins (clears throat nervously): It's just that...sir...what about the people who want to go from Basse Road to northbound 281? There's no exit for them.
Boss (leaning forward ominously): Let me tell you exactly what I think of people who want to go from Basse Road to 281 north: Every single damned one of them can go straight to hell. Do we understand each other?
Jenkins (meekly): Yes, sir.
Boss: And one more thing, Jenkins. I want you to make sure there are at least two directional signs pointing the way to 281 north that will cause all traffic following them to turn too early. The process for getting from Basse to 281 north is going to be an absolute clusterf*ck. See to it.
Jenkins: Yes, sir.
*Because Jenkins is my favorite name for a generic workplace flunkie.