The Treasure of The Oldsmobobile Ciera Padre
The last of the old posts/original material from the old blog and even though the rain has slowed them down, it's still valid...
The local gas company and the local cable company are looking for buried treasure. How else can you explain why they will dig up sections of the sidewalk and flee for a week, only to dig up a section right next to it and scamper away again? They just leave partially-exposed holes in the sidewalks with no new wiring or pipes in them.
What are they looking for anyway? The Treasure of the Oldsmobile Ciera (sp) Padre? Normally I wouldn’t mind the fact that they don’t want to finish any of their particular projects but I work at night and thus, have to sleep in the day time. Recently after so many weeks of being jarred awake by jackhammers, concrete saws and the backup klaxons of trucks and machinery, I decided to confront one of the crews. It did not go well.
“Permits? We ain't got no permits. We don't need no permits. I don't have to show you any stinking permits!"*
*That was almost verbatim...except he didn’t...he didn’t use the words, “stinking” or...well, it was more like “we don’t need to show you a permit actually, it’s on file at City Hall.” And he didn’t quite sound so much like Alfonso Bedoya or John Belushi as he sounded more like Cantinflas. But damn if there wasn’t a homeless dude across the street who didn’t look like Walter Huston’s “Howard” and damn if I don’t look Bogart’s Dobbs when I’m jolted out of bed.
The local gas company and the local cable company are looking for buried treasure. How else can you explain why they will dig up sections of the sidewalk and flee for a week, only to dig up a section right next to it and scamper away again? They just leave partially-exposed holes in the sidewalks with no new wiring or pipes in them.
What are they looking for anyway? The Treasure of the Oldsmobile Ciera (sp) Padre? Normally I wouldn’t mind the fact that they don’t want to finish any of their particular projects but I work at night and thus, have to sleep in the day time. Recently after so many weeks of being jarred awake by jackhammers, concrete saws and the backup klaxons of trucks and machinery, I decided to confront one of the crews. It did not go well.
“Permits? We ain't got no permits. We don't need no permits. I don't have to show you any stinking permits!"*
*That was almost verbatim...except he didn’t...he didn’t use the words, “stinking” or...well, it was more like “we don’t need to show you a permit actually, it’s on file at City Hall.” And he didn’t quite sound so much like Alfonso Bedoya or John Belushi as he sounded more like Cantinflas. But damn if there wasn’t a homeless dude across the street who didn’t look like Walter Huston’s “Howard” and damn if I don’t look Bogart’s Dobbs when I’m jolted out of bed.
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 12:25 PM
4 Comments:
Welcome to the ever-expanding scribosphere!
Uh, thank you very much. Is this a technorati-reference or just in general?
I think I remember your son being about three, and them digging that trench outside your building! They're still digging??? --Albert
No, now they're just cutting one or two sidewalk square segments and literally running away. They might put a cone or barrier on it, but that's about it.
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