I'm So Tired of Being Nice

There is little I hate more than the sound of an alarm clock. Try as they might, designers of these tyrants have not come up with a way to intrude upon my slumber without pissing me off.


One of the biggest perks of retirement for me has been the ability to decide when I want to get out of bed, at least most of the time. There is no question that I am an off-the-charts control freak. I tend to resent any turn of events that produces requirements for me that are not of my own making.


When my neighbors, with whom I share a driveway, announced that they were going to replace the siding on their entire house, my first thought was to wonder how much that was going to cost? The neighbors have not escaped Georgia's 10.8% unemployment predicament any more than I have, and the last time I looked into Hardiplank siding for my own house, I was looking at around $20,000.


I was having this discussion when I suddenly remembered what it was like, around 8 years ago, when the previous owner of the house next door decided to have every nail in the siding re-set. She was hoping to prevent further damage to the much-maligned composite siding that was used to clad the four houses that were built in 1989 to replace the gigantic old mansion that had burned to the ground. The incessant percussion of that power nail shooter nearly drove me mad for three solid days.


A flood of thoughts hit me. These neighbors of mine, a couple of men in their early and late fifties, respectively, are the most noise-averse people I have ever met. To them, a leaf blower is the neighborhood equivalent of water-boarding. They pick up their recycle bin rather than use the wheels to drag it to the curb on Garbage Day, because they can't stand the sound it makes. Dogs barking? Children playing? Trucks idling? All guaranteed to evoke a grunt or a snarl of contempt.


They complained endlessly about everything that happened on my side of the driveway when I had the roof replaced, the exterior painted and the kitchen re-modeled -- all at the same time. The contractor I hired (I must have been temporarily insane, but that's for another post) would stop at the nearest Home Depot to pick up one or two "helpers" every day. Most of those men were hard-working, eager-to-please guys who were happy to get a day of work.


But there was one who had no volume control button, no governor on his tongue. He would shout from the back of the house to his boss in the front. His laugh, which he used frequently, reverberated over the treetops, sending birds and squirrels scrambling. The eye-rolling and door slamming that went on next door was not subtle; I was acutely aware of their discomfort and did everything humanly possible to "keep it down to a dull roar." By the time the job was completed, I was a nervous mess from trying to keep the peace.


The tables have finally turned, and I have the opportunity to choose the behavior I will use to weather this current sound storm. As usual, my Midwestern, Catholic, pseudo-sophisticated upbringing prevailed and I took the familiar high road.


"I can endure anything for a few days; don't even worry about it," I assured my neighbors. "I am a mother. I learned how to tune out noise 40 years ago. Don't fret. You are the ones I worry about, what with your hatred of noise." I couldn't resist at least one zinger. Sorry.


Monday evening, around 8:30, the neighbor called.


"What time do you get up in the morning?"


"It depends on what's going on. What's up?"


I have often gotten up at 5:30 a.m. to drive one of them to the airport, a courtesy we extend to each other to avoid the cost and unreliability of Atlanta taxis. But unless I have a morning appointment like that, I tend to sleep in or lie in bed watching the news, read blog posts, or do a load of laundry. They know this. We've had this conversation.


"Well, um, the workers say they are going to be here around 7:30 tomorrow."


"Ok."


"...and they have to put up scaffolding that is going to jut out into the driveway..."


"At 7:30 in the morning?"


I didn't mean to say that with so much emphasis, but give me a break.


"...so you might want to put your car out front if you are going to need it during the day. It will just be for this one day. We're sorry you'll have to be so inconvenienced."


At times like these I lapse into an internal dialogue: "Be reasonable, Lezlie. They have no control over these things." " Oh really? They could have asked the men to delay their arrival to a more reasonable time." "The workers like to get an early start so they can get home earlier." "Not my problem." "Oh, be nice. Don't be such a bitch!"


So out of my mouth come these words to my neighbor on the phone:


"No problem. I'll just set the clock for 7 a.m. and move the car to the front. No need to apologize, it can't be helped."


It took those three men 2 complete hours just to erect the scaffolding. When it was finally up and ready for work, they immediately took a 15-minute break. By now it is around 10 a.m., and the rhythmic percussion of siding removal tools began. Creak, creak, thud. Creak, creak, thud. After lunch, the sound became Pop, pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop.


I zoned out pretty well and spent the day going to the gym, grocery shopping and writing notes for future blogs. I was so focused, in fact, that I didn't notice when the noise stopped. I went to the window to see the scaffolding gone and only about 25% of the new siding on the wall. Well, so much for "just one day."


This morning when the alarm went off, I was not even close to being happy. I hit every button on the clock radio before I finally silenced that sucker. I staggered to the bathroom, squinted into the mirror to see if it was really me, and ripped open the drawer to feel for my toothpaste. Just as I turned on the shower, the phone rang. It was 7:02 a.m.


I didn't answer, just kept on with my morning ritual. "Let him wait. They said 7:30. They said one day. They can all wait until I get damned good and ready to move that f*&^ng car."


Shame on me.