The Donald

They’re “upgrading” the gas mains on our street. I’m not quite sure how you can upgrade gas mains. Unless, they’ve somehow discovered a way to make the gas in my stove reach up out of it (without killing me with it’s gassy poison) and clean the chowder that I spilled last night all over the range. Now, that’s an upgrade that I could really get behind.

As it is, the only “upgrade” that I can think of that they would be doing is one to prevent me, Kristian and the kitties from dying in a non-upgraded-gas-main related explosion. And, because I don’t like to imagine that the gas mains outside our house are capable of killing us, this whole upgrade just isn’t doing it for me. Especially when they like to start jackhammering at around 7am. That’s just cruel.

The one amusing thing that happened as a result of them digging a long ditch down the middle of our street is an interaction that I had today with our neighbor, Donald.

Let me back things up a bit and tell you about Donald. Donald is our neighborhood enforcer. Donald told us about how he ended up buying the house across the street from us, but he clearly lied. Our neighborhood did not exist without Donald there to enforce it. He has been living in that house since the beginning of time itself. When primitive hunter gatherers ran down our street with spears in their hands, Donald told them to slow down lest they trip and injure themselves.

Neighbors like Donald are both a blessing and a curse. They are a blessing, because we know that we don’t need to worry about people trying to break into our apartment. If anyone suspicious or shady started skulking around outside, Donald would be on them faster than you can say “neighborhood enforcer.” If Donald didn’t get them, the cats might cough up some deadly hairballs on them.

The downside, of course, is that we always have to be on our best behavior, because Donald has his eye on us. Donald knows where my Mother lives. He found this out the first time that she came over. I have no trouble believing that Donald wouldn’t hesitate to let my Mom know if he doesn’t think that we have been good. “Just so you know, Hope’s Mom, your daughter has been playing her guitar awfully loudly. And I don’t approve of her taste in music.”

So, what does our neighborhood character have to do with our new and improved gas mains? Today I left my house after eating lunch (Yes, I walk home for lunch every day. Feel free to hate me). Donald was outside, supervising the NStar workers. I wish that I could share the moment with you. I would have taken a picture, but I had just enough time to get back to work and I didn’t have my camera with me. There he was, pipe in hand, staring at the people digging up the street. The look on his face said, “I dare you to mess something up.” He turned, waved hello to me, and went back to his supervision.

The workers seemed slightly bemused to have this older gentleman standing over them to inspect what they were doing. You could almost see them smirking. That was probably a mistake on their part.

You don’t fuck with the Donald.