For
several many countless weeks, workmen of all shapes and sizes have been parading in, out, and around my house. We have the whole basement flooding episode, which is still incomplete as the carpet is yet to be replaced. Then we have the exterior stucco replacement. At first they were only going to replace the stucco around and over the garage. But there’s stucco all over the front façade of our house. A little complaining, a little testing with their moisture meter, and now ALL the stucco will be replaced.
So, this is what we wanted. To have all the stucco replaced. Why? Because, we learned through the neighborhood grapevine, ALL the houses in our development were constructed WITHOUT waterproofing underneath the stucco. So even if your stucco wasn’t showing problems now… just wait. But don’t wait too long, as the builder’s warranty is only 10 years. So, we’re getting what we wanted.
And hence, I’ve not complained.
Even when they show up (or don’t show up) completely at the whim of some unpredictable schedule that is so random that it MUST be intentional.
Even when they start pounding to knock off the old stucco mere minutes after I’ve finally gotten MissM to agree to a naptime.
Even when they ring the doorbell and wake up MissM just to tell me that they’re leaving now.
Even when they repeatedly blow the circuit breaker on the one outside electrical outlet on the front of the house and tromp through my foyer and basement each time, in their dirty work boots, to reset the breaker (if I weren’t getting new carpet in the basement anyway, this one would REALLY bug me).
Even when they block large portions of our driveway with construction supplies.
Even when they pound on the house so hard that pictures fall off the wall and stacked items fall off shelves.
Even when they leave their ladders piled in the backyard and forget to close the gate, and the dog COULD have gotten lose and been hit by a car (but I knew they’d been in the backyard, so I checked the gates before letting out the dog).
But this afternoon came the final straw. THE straw that broke this camel’s back. THEY LAUGHED AT ME, those @$$H0LE$. It was just after noon, and they were all sitting in their trucks eating lunch or waiting, or whatever other non-working things they tend to do. There were at least 3 different large trucks parked beside, in front of, and across the street from our house, all with occupants sitting in them.
There were several piles of construction materials on the right side of the driveway, of course, since I park in the right side of the garage. I backed out, careful not to hit my side mirror, then tried to angle the SUV to the left to avoid a pile of lumber and a mound of sand. I ran up onto the lumber. Stopped, pulled forward a little, got out to survey the obstacles from a different view. Tried again and managed to get out of the driveway into the street without running over any other supplies.
However, now that I’m in the street, with the car still facing the house, mind you, I need to, you know, turn the car so I can actually proceed down the street and away from home. But I can’t because of all the d@mn pickups parked. I had to do the forward-6-inches, turn-a-bit, backup-6-inches, turn-a-bit, repeat about a jillion times, until my vehicle was actually parallel with the gutters. And while I’m doing this painful three-
hundred-point-turn, I happen to look in the windshield of the pickup practically right in front of me, one of the trucks I’m trying NOT to hit, and they’re LAUGHING at me. I sped away cursing them with every foul epithet I could conjure and every expletive I’ve been trying so hard to refrain from saying in front of MissM. I wished fervently that they would leave their trucks parked outside my house overnight so I could key the doors and slash the tires. (Not that I would really do that, but it was a nice vindictive fantasy to ease my rage.)
So, be ye warned. You can disrupt my life, you can pound on my house, you can wake my daughter, you can track dirt into my foyer, you can be a general pain in the @r$e for weeks on end. But don't you
dare laugh at me.
