I might have mentioned this before, but my house is apparently either ready to cave in, or blow up. Or both.
Last Thursday, a few construction workers started jackhammering, drilling and blasting their way through the cobblestones and asphalt in my street. Since this is a French village, what I mean by “in my street” is also translated to “Two feet outside my windows.”
They’ve been drilling ever since – except, of course, for Saturday and Sunday.
I have no idea what they’re doing — only that they have a miniature bulldozer and, using it, have created a gaping hole directly under my kitchen. They’ve done the same thing to the street a few houses down from mine.
There are large metal pieces over the holes in the street, so when cars drive over them, it sounds like an army tank is coming through the village. It wakes me up multiple times each night.
Anyhow, today, one of the workers — who I feel as though is already intimately a part of my life, since he spends his days mere feet away from me — rang my doorbell.
I did my usual “Je ne parle pas Francais,” and he did the usual things French do when you say that, which is to say “Un peu?” and then continue speaking rapidfire French to me.
I heard “kitchen” and “counter” – and believe he meant “counter” as in the meter that my landlady (who, by the way, is out of town during this) reads to tell me my water and gas bills.
We stood there for a few minutes, until I gestured him in.
He took off his hat (how very cute) and looked under my sink, behind my ant-infested garbage (yeah, that’s right, guess where the ants go when someone drills into their homes? My house) and finally in the backroom where he looked at the meter.
Then he turned around, placed his hat back on and went outside.
When I left 30 minutes later, I felt like all the construction workers knew that I didn’t speak French, and were all staring at me as I left. Uncomfortable… but they were very polite.
Upon returning.. they were still drilling.
Thank God the French have unreasonably long lunches, because at least I get about two hours of non-drilling every afternoon.
Anyhow, as of tonight, there are not only gaping holes under the street, but also one under my kitchen. And someone put a rolled-up tarp in there to “cover it up” as though now no small child will want to go exploring in it or something.
I’m just a little bit worried they’re going to somehow cut off my water, or gas, or, God forbid, my Internet.