As you know, the Native San Franciscan gets agitated and weird at any temperature over, let's say 75 degrees. We are not now, nor have we ever been, cut out for temperature fluctuations. Most especially heat. We are presently ebbing out of a Mini-Wave, and I am loopy and cantankerous. It is 93 degrees at the time of writing.
Yesterday was Wet Rat Hot - to wit, I looked like a drowned rat by the shank of the afternoon, and had to take a post-prandial cold shower. Yipes. I had a headache (really ? The return (as if it ever left) of the 8 year headache. Good times.) I pretty much just puttered and sweated and Trader Joe'd. I had a brainstorm which included cooking in the oven in a house that was actually 85 degrees. Really ? Yes. I went for my famous Jelly Chicken and a modification of twice-baked potatoes : the skins were all janky and I just ended up stuffing the potatoes and cheese into a casserole dish. Chief (The Husband ) called it "mashed potatoes". It so was not. So the oven is on and on and I have a TurbyTwist on my head and I am almost 100% liquified. Sparky (The Youngest Child) gets home and tells me I look beautiful. Tell me something I don't know
The food is eaten, the hogs are slopped - the cold shower then occurs. I am revived. But am I ? Apparently not. The body and the wet rat part of things have been addressed, but I am still agitated, it would seem. The big fan is on in the living room, and I have assembled in The Mother Ship (my seat in the living room) with my coffee, my book, my iTouch, peanut M&M's, and a personal fan.
Mind you, the neighbors next door have been involved in some kind of fucking "construction" for ages : nights, weekends, bullshit, most likely undocumented, unlicensed ne'er-do wells. All day long - the relentless SAWING and other assorted awful sounds. It does not occur to me that I have been actually listening to the electric saw ALL DAY LONG in the heat...until I suddenly find my self screaming in the living room things like : "STOP SAWING !", "NO MORE WITH THE SAW !", IT'S NIGHTTIME - STOP SAWING RIGHT NOW!", etc. After each outburst, The Sawing stops for a second. Then, whirrrrrr whizzzz all over again. Goddammit. All the windows are open, to boot. Sparky is totally oblivious, Chief is cringing.
I start ranting about the police and local noise ordinances and just common human decency and sharing the planet in a responsible manner and can't I have an evening at home with the family and...wait - I know - CALL 311 !! For you non-locals, 311 in SF is a # to call if you need to know....anything. Any damned thing. I love it, and (surprise) use it often. So I dial up and ask what the legal cut off point for loud construction is. He asks : is it emergency repair, street, house ? He says non-emergency stuff is okay until 8 p.m. - if the noise level is below 5 decibels (an electric screwdriver). It's 7:45 p.m. and I am estimating about a skillion decibels at this point. Can I have a nice evening at home anymore ?
Miraculously, They stop The Sawing at 8 p.m. Not because they knew the law, but likely because they were afraid of the crazy woman yelling. Bitches.
Next day. I return from the gym, a little embarrassed in the light of day re: my outbursts of the previous night. WHAT ? I am hallucinating - it's either the opiates the heat or a combination of both. One of the construction trucks is parked (gasp) IN MY DRIVEWAY !!! I am speechless. I lay on the horn, nicely, and they come out to move it. Then, my neighbor comes out and attempts, in broken English, to apologize - whether about last night's debacle or this morning's effrontery is anyone's guess. 24 years and I still can't understand a damn thing she says. I nod and smile a lot. I decide to go all "when in Rome" on her, and speak to her in broken English, as well. "No more at night ! No tools and saws after dinner time ! Not at night ! Not okay !" She (copycat) nods and smiles and I exit.
Now we are caught up - and, as we speak, the SAWING is deafening. I am twitching and it is so hot. But wait - what is this ? Suddenly, a police van squeals up and jumps the curb (in my driveway - what is it with this ? Is it National Park In Trudy's Driveway Day?).
I jump to my post at the front window, and watch as the po-po slowly approach one of the construction vans and appear to be taking secret pictures or something. I have no idea what is going on, but I have it worked out in my head that these people are getting dogged by SFPD because their Night Sawing made me upset.
Things move pretty fast around here
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