(photo credit: Kids with gas masks by mat- on flickr.com. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/legalcode.)
We’ve been waiting for months for the gas men to finally do this project in front of our house, but now that they are here, all I want is for them to go away.
I spend much of my day writing, inside my house, something that’s hard to do when there is an off-and-on jackhammer fest happening out my front door. You may say that it would be quieter if I shut all of my doors, but you would only be partially right. It was a little quieter but not enough to make it worth it to be enclosed in a stuffy house all day.
Then, when I take a break and go out to walk the dog, the noise is unbearable. I’d rush the dog along except he’s been a little tentative on his feet the past few weeks so we walk at a leisurely (except for the banging noises) pace, stopping at every tree, leaf, piece of grass to sniff and on many occasions lift our leg.
When we return 30 minutes later, there is a truck parked on the street, directly in front of my driveway, blocking me from leaving, which, of course, is the next thing I’d planned to do. I go over to where several of the guys are gathered around the huge hole (that took hours of jackhammering to make) in our street, watching the man in the hole. I am practically standing on top of them before they hear me calling out to get their attention. I tell one of them that I am going out in a few minutes and need them to move the truck, to which he nods, says ok then turns back to the hole-watching. No sign of moving the truck OR of mentioning it to anybody else.
I take the dog inside. Ten minutes later, I step outside and surprise, surprise, the truck is still blocking my driveway. There is a man in the driver’s seat, reading the paper. I walk toward him and he looks up. I ask him if he could back up so I could get out of the driveway. He is very nice and does as I say. Even with him out of the way, pulling out onto the road is not easy. The hole is located right where I would backup my car any other day. Somehow, with some help from one of the workers who moves a few traffic cones and guides me super close to the edge of the hole, I managed to get out of there.
An hour and a half later, when I return, I have to park my car around the corner. When I get to my house, there is an additional man in the crew, who happens to be pushing his way into the bushes on one side of my front door. I walk over, stick my head into the bushes and he says, “Oh good. You’re home. Ignore the big note plastered on your door. I’ll be inside in a minute to restart your gas.”
Thankfully, this last guy was friendly, especially since he needed to come in and out a couple of times. Hopefully, today is the last of the gas men in my neighborhood for awhile.
But I doubt it, since there continues to be a huge, gaping hole in our street.
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