Someone is doing utility work on my street. It's a company I've never seen before, but, upon some diligent research (hitting "Google search" on the Internet), I discover the company has been around since 1940 and specializes in electrical substation repair and shit like that. There are substations down the street from my street but not on my true street. My street has simple old electric wires that haven't suffered any fate worse than when the drunk off-duty cop who used to live next door left his car in gear and smashed it into the pole, causing sparks to fly and that horrible, loud, Dr. Frankenstein-like buzzing noise to creep out the entire neighborhood.
My street is short, so short that it's probably about the length of someone's driveway, but we've managed to stick a whole bunch of random-sized houses here and call it a real street. Best of all, the houses are all on one side of the road because the other side drops off to yet another road and the train tracks -- instant death if your car is left in gear ... unless you're a cop and hit a utility pole, of course. So, when the two giamundo utility trucks show up to do work, they block one entire end of the street and three driveways.
I notice that they are inching their way up the street, and I can see the cones marking their future progress. I suddenly realize that I have exactly thirty seconds to get out of my own driveway before I am completely blocked in for a few hours. Well, it's wine tasting day, and I'll be damned if I am giving that up for some electric company, especially one I've never even heard of, so I quickly brush my hair and teeth (different brushes, no worries), pee as fast as I can, and rush outside. I squeeze my sedan past the first truck and the line of cones just as they edge toward my house.
I run to the wine tasting, then hit CVS, and then I decide to go to the market and get some food. When I come back, the trucks are full-on blocking the street. Now, no one has access. This will piss off my neighbors and befuddle all the people who seem to believe that my street is their personal parking lot for church. Meanwhile, I park in the church lot, wedging it right up against the snowbank so as not to upset the deacons (or whatever the Catholic church calls them) and walk into the work zone with my multiple bags of shit, including my wine shop bag. I don't know what the workers are thinking (probably jealous), but I trudge right through their work zone, including walking straight on via the sign that clearly screams, "DROP ZONE!"
My poor neighbor out front did not pay attention to the action on the street, which is lame since it has been going on for hours now, and attempts to get into his car and move it. Unfortunately for him, that's not going to happen for probably ninety or so more minutes. I dump my goodies on the table, put some stuff in the fridge, then head back out to the church lot. It's almost 3:00 p.m.; if I don't move my car soon, the afternoon mass will block me in, especially since no one can use my street as their quick-getaway lot today.
A friend texts me, and we decide to go on an aimless adventure. We end up with wrapping paper, nail files, wine glasses, and beer. When I finally see my street again a few hours later, the workers are gone ... but the cones remain. They will be back, apparently, but not in the dark. I guess that means that whatever it is they are doing, it's not critical to my street nor connected to the nearby substations. As long as I have electricity in my house and room for my car in the driveway, I don't really want to know what it is that they're doing. Just keep the juice flowing so my wine and beer and food can stay nice and chilled.
Otherwise, I'll have to go down the street to the church parking lot, grab the last of that melting snowbank, and fill up some coolers. After all, God may not have given us electricity, but He did give us snow, and I'm pretty damn sure He gave us wine, too, so I think I'm good.
My street is short, so short that it's probably about the length of someone's driveway, but we've managed to stick a whole bunch of random-sized houses here and call it a real street. Best of all, the houses are all on one side of the road because the other side drops off to yet another road and the train tracks -- instant death if your car is left in gear ... unless you're a cop and hit a utility pole, of course. So, when the two giamundo utility trucks show up to do work, they block one entire end of the street and three driveways.
