Yesterday started like this: Steven arrives home at 1:30 am after a lengthy evening spent waiting for various servers to stop bombing left and right. We both lapse into a coma and I spring from the bed at around 7 when I hear the beeping of street machinery, and by that I don’t mean The Low Riders Club of Van Nuys, I mean the guys fixing our street. I knew the second layer would be poured yesterday or today. What I didn’t know was: it was the final layer, the one we were supposed to avoid breathing on for 6 hours.
And there, before we could dive into our cars and race out of our driveway, was the steamroller on one side and the asphalt pouring monster on the other. The steamroller died an untimely death on one side of the driveway, giving pause to the guy riding the other machine a few feet away.
That’s when we made a mistake.
Not that we weren’t misled. But.
Should we move the car before the steamroller went over the newly poured hot, steaming asphalt, presumably making any tire tracks smooth (oh hindsight, duh!)? Should we stay put and forget about everything for the day (resounding yes!)? We asked the guys doing the work, seeing as they’ve seen more life on the street than we have.
Drive straight over it and you’ll be fine, but no turning, he said. You sure? Yes.
So Steven backs out straight as a pin, and I go front-out the same way (I can’t park front in – for 10 years! – because of the street), turning only when we arrived at the still-unpaved side of the street.
And though I drove exactly through Steven’s tracks, we both leave ruts about 5 inches deep and nearly heave and keel over. Have we ruined the street? No, they said, and in the end, they were right – you can see tiny indentations in the street, but they’re only detectable with the sunrise or sunset (and only because it took a while to revive the steamroller).
Within moments all eyes were on our neighbor down the street, who angrily shot out of her driveway, did a three-pointer (rucking up the still steaming asphalt) and then drove away on the side they just poured instead of the unpaved side. The neighbors came out screaming, threatening, cursing, and then, of course, with no one left to scream at, they started on us. We used the Child as Buffer and got out of there, returning after the street was finished and everyone’s piehole was presumably shut for the day.
I drove out of there all the way to my Dad’s house with my emergency brake on. I have only done that once, when the car was brand new, for about a mile. Officially, I have lost my fragile mind. And possibly much of my back brake shoes.
Not to be outdone, Steven got a speeding ticket on the way to work.
Today was better (not that it would be difficult.)
Drawerspace In A Cluttered Mind 