Stop! Hammer time

When my alarm went off this morning, I had a strong urge to turn it off and stay in bed all day. But then I remembered everything I ate over the weekend, which was enough motivation to get me out of bed and into my workout clothes. After allowing Jillian Michaels to abuse my body for 30 minutes, I got cleaned up and spent some time putting together a cute work outfit with the new skirt and shoes I bought over the weekend. I was actually feeling pretty good as I gathered up my purse and keys to head off to work.

Then I opened the front door and saw that the city had roadblocks up on both ends of my street and there were crews doing some sort of work down in the sewer. Which, whatever, I get that sewers sometimes need maintenance, tax dollars at work, etc., but is it unreasonable to expect a little heads up from the city before projects like this? Even just a little note taped to the door being like, “Dear resident, we plan to dig giant holes in your street on Monday, effectively trapping you in your home. We are warning you because not warning you would be really dick-ish.”

I stood there and weighed my options for a few moments. I could be an adult, change into more sensible shoes, and hoof it to the office, or I could get in my car and peel out around the roadblock in a fit of rage, knocking over a few cones in the process.

Sorry construction workers, cute shoes always win out.

Then, as I walked up to my office building from the parking lot, I saw that it was covered in scaffolding and the front door was blocked by a ladder. Because apparently the closure of my street was not a clear enough sign from the universe that I was supposed to spend today cocooned with cheese products in my Snuggie watching Golden Girls.

I was able to shimmy around the scaffolding and crawl under the ladder to get into my building, only to find some dude sitting two feet from my desk wielding a sander. Turns out, there’s nothing like the sound of power tools screeching next to your head to take a Monday morning from a mildly irritating experience to the dawn of a full-blown opiate addiction.

At one point I thought I could finally focus on an important project because the sanding stopped and the guy vanished. Just as I had my files pulled up and ready to go, he re-appeared; this time wearing a belt with all sorts of hammers on it. He made some lame Hammer Time joke and I laughed, but oh how I wish I had strangled him with a pair of parachute pants instead because OH SWEET JESUS the hammering. I’ve been home from work for several hours now and I still hear the awful sound, haunting me, like the melody of a Carly Rae Jepsen song. Once the hammering stopped he moved on to drilling. All of this was obviously super conducive to phone calls. One poor soul asked what that noise was and I was all, “Oh, just the sound of a table saw harmonizing with a power drill and four staple guns; does this not happen inside your place of business?”

My lunch hour took its sweet time to arrive, and as I headed into the office kitchen with my soup, I was informed that I was not allowed to use the microwave. Because even though our outlets were powering more tools than you’d find at a Creed concert, my pathetic little cup of chicken soup apparently would have been too much to handle. So I drove home really fast to get food, only to remember that, oh yeah, THE ROAD IS CLOSED, only this time there was no driving around the roadblocks due to the giant chunks of asphalt littering the roadway. And so I did the only thing that can be done on days like this: I watched It’s Always Sunny clips online and all was right with the world.

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