10:15 a.m. - August 21, 2007
Arrived home late last night - midnight and a half - and walking towards the front door thought my porch looked odd. Turned the lights on and see my porch is covered with white gritty something, and figured it just needed a sweeping.
This morning I look closer and half my stoop has been cemented over. WTF? Conrad, that ever observant neighbor across the street, came over and said he noticed a bricklayer van in my driveway on Thursday, that they looked like they were laying bricks on my porch, and then an hour later had left - TEARING AWAY THE BRICKS THEY LAYED. I'm so fuckin pissed for two reasons - first, that obviously this bricklayer had the wrong address, realized it after beginning the work, then removed said work, and left me with the damage, though considerately tried to patch the stoop with rough cement that doesn't match, is a different texture and color, and looks SHITTY. Secondly, I'm pissed that Conrad, the man who surely knows how many sheets of toilet paper local residents use to wipe their ass, didn't write down the name of the bricklaying company.
Sleuthing cap on leads only to one remote possibility: Look for houses in my area whose street address is like mine (4830) or something similar and determine whether they've had any recent bricklaying work done.
Other than that, I'm fucked. So damn pissed. Know why? It's because I feel like I got shit on and I'm powerless to do anything about it. It's not the money but that sense of having to just take it. Nothing sets me off worse than that. The sad thing is that while my anger is legitimate, it's much much deeper than just having a ruined porch or stoop - it's that awful darkness inside that feels inconsequential, weak, impotent. I snivel but just ask, can't I be left alone?