I awoke one night about three weeks ago to the sound of what I thought was someone power-washing my fence. Since my fence is, in most places, old and fragile, this concerned me. A power-wash of more than a squirt, would surely demolish the fence. As it turned out, there was nobody doing any power-washing. But, what was that loud sound?
Could it be sand-blasting, power-washing's thirsty cousin? Once, a long time ago, I had briefly worked on a sand-blasting crew; one never forgets the sound. I tried, like a good neighbor, to ignore it and go back to sleep. Didn't happen. So, I did what any decent victim of possible sand-blasting at 3 am would do, I called the cops. The duty cop was well prepared and told me that the Metro-Norths were doing some re-modeling of their estate across the way from our house. Since that property wasn't, technically and legally, inside city limits, we can't do a thing the cop said. Eventually, the sound faded, but each night for weeks we could hear the Metro-North's crews working further down the line.
Last night they were back working directly across the street and woke us up. Before going downstairs to watch early morning TV, I thought of New Neighbor Coleman. I realized that New Neighbor Coleman had been away during the first bout of blasting, and that I had neglected to mention it to him as a new night time feature. Even though I knew that we were both now awake, I didn't think it was proper to call him. Besides, NNC is a lawyer and I knew that he had already called the cops. I also knew that NNC was not going to go easily into that noisy night, precisely because he was NNC The Lawyer. He was going to get to the bottom of how the Metro-North's boundary lines become part of a separate city. If they lived in their own city, then they probably didn't pay city taxes, and, if they didn't pay city taxes, then NNCTL was going to harass them. I became fairly certain of this.
One benefit of having the Metro-North's do their blasting work at 3am is that I discovered a whole new world on TV at that hour. Apparently, people who do not see enough commercials for Viagra or Cialis during civilized viewing hours, can see a lot more of them, including products you've never heard of at 3am. I wondered if NNCTL was also watching, but I didn't see any lights on next door.
My favorite infomercial was for something or someone called Comanche. A man in what looks like an Indian Chief's headdress was saying some very exciting things, while holding a writhing snake over a small cauldron with some leaves peaking out of it. There was a statue of the Blessed Virgin on a shelf over his left shoulder. He was exhorting listeners to call the number on the screen. I knew that, even though I didn't precisely understand his Spanish, because he spoke over some fake ringing sounds. The whole production probably cost about fifty-cents to make, and the poor BV looked totally embarrassed by the whole thing. Whatever it was that Comanche was curing related to Amor, the only word I recognized, and we pretty much know what that means. Remember Crazy Eddie? Comanche makes him look like Walter Cronkite.
Sitting there in my kitchen, watching and listening to Comanche, wondering about NNCTL, I began to wonder if this Comanche guy had gotten his start by having some idiotic neighbor, like the Metro-Norths, wake him up one night.
Then, I realized that the sand-blasting had stopped and I went back up to bed, but not exactly to sleep thinking, gotta call New Neighbor Coleman The Tired Lawyer tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment