Came home to nap in the middle of a split shift, so of course the roofers finally showed up today.
I worked third shift for about nine years. It doesn’t agree with many people, but I loved it. LOVED IT. I’d get off work at 7:30 AM and stay awake doing errands or whatnot until 2 PM. It was glorious because no one was IN. MY. WAY.
So I went to bed at two o’clock every day. That’s the only way it worked for me because it was the normal order most people do things, simply shifted around. I’d wake up at 10 PM and get ready for work in a leisurely manner. Life is good.
One day my landlord tells me that soon a guy will be fixing the shingles that blew off the roof in a big storm. My bedroom is directly under the affected part of the roof, with no attic to act as a buffer, so I ask them to make sure, on whatever day he does it, it happens before two o’clock.
Sure enough, a few days later, the guy starts banging on the roof at exactly two o’clock. What a coincidence (he said facetiously).
I really think they purposely told him to start at two.
Months later, they decided to repave the driveway at some undetermined day in the future. Sound familiar?
They told me I’d have to move my car when they tear up the old driveway. I replied that they should make sure it happens before two o’clock. Sound familiar?
So the fateful day arrives. At two o’clock on the dot. Sound familiar?
This is when I realized that even if they weren’t doing it on purpose, they had no regard whatsoever for my requests. (But they did it on purpose.) I could have moved my car, of course. But I would still not be able to sleep through the godawful noise.
So I decided that I WAS asleep. No, not some kind of self-hypnosis-trance-meditation. I was simply “asleep.”
Just like I told them I would be.
The thing about sleeping people is this:
Sleeping people don’t answer the doorbell.
Sleeping people don’t answer a knock at the door.
Sleeping people don’t answer the phone.
Sleeping people don’t answer pounding on the door.
Sleeping people don’t answer hollerin’ and pounding on the door.
Sleeping people STILL don’t answer the phone.
Sleeping people don’t answer the constant yelling and incredibly frenetic pounding on the door by what sounds like several burly, angry men.
Oh, and the phone? STILL not answered by sleeping people.
Eventually the hollerin’ and poundin’ and ringin’ stopped.
And the machines started. This was getting interesting.
I never looked out the window.
Que será, será.
I actually did fall asleep. When I went out to leave for work, the entire circular driveway was dirt. Except for one island of pavement, the size of my car. Which was fortunate, because my car was right on top of it.
It’d be great if I could tell you that they finally realized that they should do stuff before two. But nothing else was done before I moved out. I like to think they would have bowed to my will.
That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.
THE (anticlimactic) END.