This is a little off-topic, though a person in my situation appreciates when something adds a little spice to the daily routine. This morning started out as usual. Cindy was upstairs in our entertainment room, supposedly watching a baking show, but in reality napping until I provide breakfast. I was downstairs getting breakfast ready, around 8:00 a.m., when I witnessed someone pushing the pedicab away from our entrance way.
I thought little of this at first. Our son Noah has a buddy with a lawn business; I guessed this was one of his employees moving things around in preparation for mowing our lawn. I attach a tarp over the pedicab to protect it from moisture, using a bungee cord weaved through the front spokes. If you move the pedicab to far you can snap the bungee cord. I know this only from speculation, of course. I never was dumb enough to snap a bungee cord myself. No, of course not. Yet I figure I better warn the guy just in case.
I go out and detach the bungee cord from the wheel, explaining the problem to the employee. In the process I see the huge truck he was backing up towards my door. This was not for our lawn, but rather for the roof of our neighbors, with whom we share a driveway. A few weeks ago a windstorm attacked their tree and sent it crashing on their roof.
No doubt the truck was backing up in our yard in order to pull forward into our neighbor’s yard. The man who had pushed the pedicab asked if Noah’s car could be moved. I believe in being a cooperative neighbor. The great thing about living in a village center is nurturing or natural instincts to be cooperative (proven by research, despite what ideological think tanks might say). However, Noah’s car has remained dormant for a few years and I replied “no” with a hint of gladness. Then I added, in reference to the pedicab:
“You should ask first.”
I continue on with preparing breakfast, all the while noticing the truck being guided further back, other crew members moving the pedicab further, along with some other things. “Wow. The truck driver is being extra cautious before pulling forward,” I thought, still wanting to be a good neighbor.
The truck came to a halt when in a position to block our entrance way. “Maybe moving things in our neighbors yard,” I thought, still wanting to be a good neighbor. Then a man took out a wheel block, presumably to keep the truck in place. I crack open the entrance way door to the extent I could and asked the nearest crew member, as polite as can be:
“What are you guys doing?”
With a big smile the man replied:
“We’re here to tear off your roof.”
“NO YOU’RE NOT!!!!!”
I explained that a tree had fallen on our neighbor’s roof, not ours. They apologized, explaining they were just going by the street numbers. I informed them I live at 24 Emerson Street. They informed me that was the precise address they were given.
I’ve known our neighbor Kailyn ever since she was in the Senior Youth Fellowship I headed up decades ago. She is a delightful, fun-loving person. This would be quite the prank, but I trust she did not give them the wrong address, at least not on purpose. (Hey Kailyn, I love ‘ya, but that would be testing the good neighbor instinct a bit too much ;-}). In any case I assured the crew mine was not the roof they wanted. For the next few minutes I heard repeatedly:
“Good thing you were home!”
“Boy, it’s a good thing you were home!”
“We’re really glad you were home!”
Yeah, me too, though you should still ask first.
Two hours later.
