This has been our morning dance for the last six weeks.
One morning, though, no one is parked on my street. It's deserted. I am the only car, and there is clear access either to the left down the small hill to the dangerous intersection, or to the right where the staging area has been for Gas Company Ground Zero. Now clear, I can actually turn up the road that leads to Main Street (and work). It is creepy without my usual crew around. All those mornings of me bitching and complaining about having to take my life into my hands entering the dangerous intersection with my sight-line blocked, and all the mornings I have had to run across the intersection on foot to get to my car parked a street away when there were giant holes everywhere --Finished.
The next morning, though, there they are again. It's not my usual crew, but it's a crew, just the same. Then I realize they're working on the house that caught fire. The owners filed an insurance claim rather than a Columbia Gas claim, so their crew had to wait until our crew finished up. I guess the silent, worker-free zone only comes with a twenty-four hour codicil.
The best part is, though, that now I recognize all the sounds without even having to look. Saturday morning when I hear the crew working at 7:00, I instantly know they're toasting drill bits trying to make their way through the field stone basement. I also know from living in that house many years ago that the crew will have a bastard of a time getting the hot water heater and furnace out and bringing in new ones because the staircase is tiny and the limited work area is about the size of a handicap stall public restroom.
Good luck to them all. But, hear this: I've waited six weeks to have my morning commute back. Do NOT block the end of my driveway anymore or I just might be tempted to cry... and quite possibly kick your asses.
