8:00am–A large cannister has just shown up in our driveway. It is not, as I had predicted, a green cannister. I’m not sure what color it is. It is the color that you might get if you gave a three-year-old a bunch of crayons at random and she drew one color on top of another. You know, that color.
But here’s the surprising thing about the cannister that was dropped off: it was already half full! That’s right–they actually brought debris from someone else’s house to ours. We suspect that we might even know the people whose debris it is: a couple from our old neighborhood who simultaneously bought a house in our new neighborhood and are overhauling their house so much that they can’t even live in it yet, at least not until, apparently, all their debris is moved to our house!
It’s a damned good thing we like these people, or we might be really pissed off.
9:10am–Now there are men in the kitchen laughing and using power tools. They are not as large and burly as I had predicted, but nevertheless, I’m sure they could beat me up. I don’t know what they’re using the power tools for and I really don’t want to know. I have told them that I’ll be wayyyyy down the hall in my office if they need me for anything, which I sincerely hope they don’t, because, really, what possible assistance could I be to them? Every once in awhile they’ll ask me a question like, “Are you keeping this?” and without even looking up to see what “this” is, I tell them no, because we’re not keeping any of it. I just hope that “this” is never my daughter or my dog.
10:11am–While the sound of power tools continues, there is also a cacophony of banging noises of the type one associates with a good old hammer. They are also playing some sort of music, perhaps to provide a rhythm for their work. From my office wayyyy down the hall, I cannot make out what kind of music it is, but occasionally I hear a snippet of what sounds disconcertingly like a polka. That can’t be right, I think to myself. Who would do demolition work to a polka? Lawrence Welk?
10:14am–There was just a very loud noise, something like a crash, the kind of sound you don’t think of as being related to something that happened intentionally. I am tempted to go look, but I don’t. They know what they’re doing, I tell myself.
11:47am–I venture out of my office to get some lunch, which means, I realize with dismay, I will have to go to the kitchen. The “Laugh-in” wall of cabinet doors (see earlier post) is gone, and the refrigerator stands in the middle of the room like John Travolta waiting for a dance partner in Saturday Night Fever. The two guys working stare at me as I dart into the room and grab some leftover pad thai from the fridge. Clearly I am in their domain, and not welcomed. I apologize profusely for the interruption, although they have not paused in their work for even a second, even while they were staring at me. And to make matters worse, in my haste to scurry away, I forgot to take a soda.
I will go thirsty.
12:21pm–Lunch over, I glance outside. The 1950’s Thermidor oven is in the center of the driveway and the cannister is nearly filled, with our debris burying the other people’s debris.
It is obvious to me that there’s no turning back now.
1:09pm–The sink is gone. The stove is gone. Only the fridge and the dishwasher remain, their stainless steel facades shining defiantly in the face of certain destruction. Such bravery! (They don’t know it, of course, but only the dishwasher is doomed. The refrigerator is merely being demoted downstairs.)
1:30pm–The banging is getting louder, and there is something that sounds like a jackhammer. But that’s just for cement, isn’t it? Maybe it’s just a super-powerful drill or something. After all, the floor in my office isn’t vibrating.
1:32pm–The floor in my office begins to vibrate. But just a little.
2:41pm–It sounds like they are torturing a duck. Seriously. I’m hearing “Quackkkkkkkkk!” And they’ve put up a translucent, but not transparent, plastic curtain, so I can’t see into the kitchen. For all I know, they are doing unspeakable things to Daffy.
3:30pm–Now they are shooting people in my kitchen. It sounds like a firing squad in there. Or perhaps they are giving a 21-gun salute to the refrigerator for extraordinary courage.
4:20pm–They’re done for the day. The kitchen has been stripped to the beams, but they haven’t really started on the dining room yet. The entire kitchen-dining room area has been shrink-wrapped. The staunch refrigerator has been exiled to the living room. John, one of the guys responsible for our new kitchen, tells us that the debris they delivered this morning was not, in fact part of the house of the people we know. It was the debris of strangers!
And tomorrow it all starts again…