Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Last December, my family and I moved into a brand new, beautiful house. Kudos to my husband for providing us with such a lovely house in a great neighborhood. We had an empty field next to us on one side at the time, which I knew would eventually become filled with other houses. That time has come. It just so happens that the lot directly adjacent to us is one of the last to be finished. They are still framing the house next door, hammering as I type this. I am truly not bothered by the construction, as it is temporary, and means we will have new neighbors in a few months. What fun! I do love to take baked goods to new neighbors and pleasantly confuse them with old-school Southern hospitality. No one expects it in this day and age. My son actually enjoys the construction, what with power tools, cement mixers, cranes and other fun equipment that he can watch in use from the kitchen window.
But on Friday, some of the workers (Brazilian, I believe) decided it would be okay to store bathtubs in our side yard. There was plenty of room on the lot where they are building, but they decided our nice, green grass was a better place to put the bathtubs. I didn't like their decision. But I decided to wait and see what they did about it on Saturday. I spent the morning doing volunteer work in a vegetable garden being cultivated to feed needy folks with an outfit called Fields to Families. Very dirty, sweaty and rewarding work. Had a blast.
Now, it must be a cultural difference, which is why I mention the nationality of these workers, but apparently they believe there is nothing wrong with trespassing. When I returned from my volunteer work, someone had delivered enormous roof-shaped trusses to MY front lawn. "Well, if we run out of room here, we'll just put it on the neighbor's lawn." is what they must have thought. This is beyond me. They continued to walk back and forth in my yard, even using a powersaw and nailgun right next to the corner of my house. And, to make matters worse, one of the tubs had been propped against the side of my house. In a fit of rage while the workers were away at lunch, I stormed into my side yard and yanked the tub down onto the ground. I got a fiberglass splinter in my thumb, which I suppose serves me right.
Unfortunately, no amount of phone calling or indignation could move these items until Monday morning. My husband speaks Spanish, which is similar enough to Portugese, and managed to communicate a simple message to them early Monday morning. I believe it went something like, "This is my property. I want all this stuff off of it." It was all moved by mid-morning. It's a good thing my husband handled it, and not me. And it's a good thing I don't know how to cuss in Portugese.