Strange Things | Calling the Cops

Calling the Cops

erratic_prophet | 16 December, 2005 20:45

Or Blockage vs. Dirt.

It's gotten to the point where anytime I see any kind of construction going on, I can feel my blood pressure rise. The idiot squad across the street is still moving around various piles of dirt and blocking up the road, but not doing much else. Unless you consider making lots of noise doing something. Today was the final straw: they blocked our fucking driveway.

Not only did they block the driveway, but they also made it so that our garbage didn't get picked up. That is when I threw the mother of all fits. A fit filled with so much venom that it alarmed my father. It would've really scared him if he actually heard-- he's very hard of hearing, even with the hearing aid-- the words I was shouting during my fit.

I called to bitch to my mom and we both agreed: it was time to call in the police. They'd crossed the line. My father-- the man who started many familial wars-- was averse to this idea. But I did it anyway. I called the police and complained. And? They moved. And and? The garbage truck came back and got our trash. Yay, small victories!

My father wasn't thrilled though. Want to know why? Dirt.

Father: "Now they'll never give me dirt if I ask for it.."

Me: "What?"

Father: "You called the police and now I'll never get dirt."

Me: "This is all about dirt? You think I care about dirt? I don't! I don't care about dirt!"

Why this obsession with dirt? Ok, back story time...

For many years, we had a small patch that we used for our vegetable garden. Each year we'd till the earth and pull out rocks-- we have a lot of rocks in our ground, big rocks-- and plant tomatoes and cucumbers and other yummy stuff. This year, we gave up on it. Too many years of the squirrels eating up our stuff before it got ripe enough to pick. Now our little garden plot is a bit sunken in, so my father's been trying to fill it back up and level it off. This is where the dirt comes in.

Mom and I? Don't care about dirt or grass or whatever. It's just more work that we don't have time for. But my father is obsessed because it "doesn't look right". And he loves the idiot construction squad across the street since they love moving around large piles of dirt. It's like a grown up version of a sand box over there.

And I just ruined all of their fun.