I’m on leave and there are builders on the once vacant lot next door.
Most builders work 7am to 3pm, so if you’re at work and they’re at home, it’s no big deal. However, I’ve been at home for a bit and the presence of the crew next door are starting to impact. In fact, I have my own personal symphony going on here.
Firstly, I have a dog. No one told Lacey she was a small English Cocker spaniel: she fancies herself more of a perimeter guard-defense-force type of rottweiler (see what I did there?). One of the construction workers only has to speak near the adjoining fence and she’ll take his ear off with acoustic ammunition.
Secondly, it’s a two storey construction necessitating a forklift-on-a truck to lift pallets of building materials. For a suburban block you would think a bull horn to talk from the ground to the first storey wouldn’t be necessary. Nor is it, when the forklift operator appears to have one installed in his throat. I think he may be be in the running for the local town crier. Or maybe he thinks the bricklayers are deaf. Or he’s trying to out-volume Lacey. I’d label him a mezzanine-tenor.
Thirdly, these builders may be a bit on the lazy side. Evidently actually carrying building materials downstairs is far to slow; more effective is to drop brick offcuts and bits of four-B-two onto a piece of galvanized tin lying over a concrete pit. Think enormous bass drum, and you’ll get my drift.
Lastly, they have half of the cast of some amateur production of Tosca or Le Boheme on the crew with a slew of wannabe Carusos and Pavarottis practicing off pitch, syncopating with their nail guns and cement mixers.
I can’t wait to get back to work for some piece and quiet.