Roadwork *Really* Sucks When You Don't Have A Car
We live right by Min(2)Quan(3) East Road. Just before it hits Dun(1)Hua(4). At that intersection, you've got the domestic airport and a park. The planes are pretty small, and most planes don't make a whole lot of noise until after they've leveled off and really start picking up speed. The park is really nice, but I probably don't go there as often as I should.
It's a pretty quiet neighborhood, all around. Our apartment doesn't face Min(2)Quan(3), but if it did, it wouldn't matter because--all around--it's a pretty quiet road, especially considering how big it is.
But Monday morning, at around six o'clock, the workers came. I don't know how long they stayed. . . I turned on the air conditioning and shut the window to mask the noise so I could get some sleep before going into work.
Last night, though, last night at about half past midnight, they came back. . . they've got a backhoe, and they use the backhoe to smash up the road. And then they scrape these huge pieces of asphalt up with it and dump them into a truck. Then they lay new asphalt, and steamroll it. They went on and on with this unholy racket until well after five in the a.m..
It was a good thing I was drunk off my ass!
They're out there, right now. The foreman, I'll give him this: He's a good yeller. He's got one of those voices that ring out like a shot and hit you square between the ears. His voice carries around our building and through the little alleys, sidestreets, lanes and parks our apartment overlooks. It goes over the drone of the machines. It even goes over the forceful poundings and hydraulic whines of the backhoe.
I've often thought it would be a good idea to allow the Taiwanese to arm themselves. I mean with projectile weapons. But, thinking back on how angry I get listening to that foreman and his crew, I realize it's not such a good idea.
Because the Taiwanese aren't such good shots.
It's a pretty quiet neighborhood, all around. Our apartment doesn't face Min(2)Quan(3), but if it did, it wouldn't matter because--all around--it's a pretty quiet road, especially considering how big it is.
But Monday morning, at around six o'clock, the workers came. I don't know how long they stayed. . . I turned on the air conditioning and shut the window to mask the noise so I could get some sleep before going into work.
Last night, though, last night at about half past midnight, they came back. . . they've got a backhoe, and they use the backhoe to smash up the road. And then they scrape these huge pieces of asphalt up with it and dump them into a truck. Then they lay new asphalt, and steamroll it. They went on and on with this unholy racket until well after five in the a.m..
It was a good thing I was drunk off my ass!
They're out there, right now. The foreman, I'll give him this: He's a good yeller. He's got one of those voices that ring out like a shot and hit you square between the ears. His voice carries around our building and through the little alleys, sidestreets, lanes and parks our apartment overlooks. It goes over the drone of the machines. It even goes over the forceful poundings and hydraulic whines of the backhoe.
I've often thought it would be a good idea to allow the Taiwanese to arm themselves. I mean with projectile weapons. But, thinking back on how angry I get listening to that foreman and his crew, I realize it's not such a good idea.
Because the Taiwanese aren't such good shots.