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Last December, I wrote about the demolition of the 4 homes on the property next to my house. The loss of youthful memories they contained, and what I was speculating would replace them. It is a good-sized chunk of land, well good sized for a small burg like Temple City, so the options were wide open. It was a mystery, but one that anyone who has seen the landscape of the area change in recent years could easily imagine.
The property had remained a vacant lot for the eight months since the yellow Cat 973 bulldozer unleashed its destructive tirade on the unsuspecting housing and shrubbery that stood there before. It became a weed field and despite “security” gates at the entrance to the property a stop for graffiti taggers. It was the calm before the storm and the clouds were gathering unbeknownst to me.
The one little bright spot, in what I was assuming was the properties “dark ages,” came when I noticed that the person who was to the north of the lot shared my fondness for vegetable gardening. I could never see him before with the other houses in the way, but when summer came, he came out swinging. He was obviously a pro and made me look like an amateur, which I am, by comparison. He erected a three sided trellis for his veining vegetables that grew at an amazing rate. While distance and language prevented us from communicating well, we still admired each other’s work, based on our exchanging of smiles.
Then the other shoe dropped. At approximately 8 in the morning a couple of weeks ago I began feeling a familiar vibration and sound, it was the Cat 973. The beast was back to pick up where it had left off, except this time it was here to begin the preparation for reconstruction. While I wouldn’t miss the weeds and graffiti, my blood ran cold thinking about what would replace it.
The Cat 973’s presence was brief; it leveled the once bumpy lot and dug the trenches for the sewer lines in two days. Once that was done next came a crew with a huge cement mixer that took up residence for the next two days while they laid the foundations for what would be my new neighbors’ homes.
The cement boys must have been under some kind of extreme deadline because on day two they weren’t going to leave until the job was done. While I appreciate dedication to your job when it gets dark, and the only lights you have are the headlights on your trucks, it’s time to call it a day. In hindsight they probably wished they had done that as well, since two of their trucks had to be jump-started in order for them to leave because their batteries were dead.
The next wave, which is still in progress, came on like Hurricane Katrina. First there was the deafening sound of stacks of lumber being dropped off a truck. Now when I say dropped I mean dropped, it was as though the crew was announcing their arrival or marking their territory with as much volume as they could muster. Like the beginning of a parade, or a circus that always begins with a bang, we were off to the house building races and these guys approached this project with a speed I have never seen before.
After day one the answer to my question as to what was going to be residing next to my back garden was made clear. There would be SEVEN, count ‘em SEVEN two story houses crammed in on this one lot. Whoa baby did I hit the crap jackpot as far as what could be built there. I guess it could be worse. It could have been a nuclear waste dumpsite or even worse than that, a bridal superstore with ten nail salons attached. Too bad it wasn’t something that would benefit the community like a movie theatre?
The reason I was able to tell how many of these cracker box mini mansions were being built is that this crew had completely framed the bottom floors on all seven in the first day. They moved as though they were all chewing cocoa leaves or were high on amphetamines and to be honest their workmanship reflected it. After day one my wife and I surveyed the job they had done and to be honest, to our untrained eyes, it looked like a real slop job.
I may not build houses for a living but I do know when something is not straight or put together in a sloppy manner. I’m sure they are building to code but I am glad I won’t be buying one. I also hope that when that big earthquake finally comes that these suckers fall away from my house into one another. With as close as they are to one another maybe they will support one another and not hit the ground. Maybe that’s part of the “grand” design of this project and the others of similar design in this area.
So every morning I awake to a symphony of hammers, electric saws, and nail guns that continues non-stop until the construction-witching hour of 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Add to that the continual shouting and yelling the crew must do to be heard over the tools and you have the makings of a four Excedrin headache.
Oh, there is one other noise factor that I forgot about, the music. Don’t get me wrong, I like Mariachi and Banda music. I may not understand what the lyrics are but I like the music. Some of my customers are in the most successful Latino bands around, but listening to it with my morning coffee is not how I like to start my day. Not only that, it is being played at a volume usually equated with an outdoor concert on a boom box that sounds like one of it’s speakers is cracked. Let’s just say it isn’t the best way to appreciate the music.
So the construction continues, for how long I don’t know. I guess as long as the amphetamines hold out, the job may get done in record time, which would be a blessing. For years now I have passed similar construction sites and felt sorry for the people living next door to them. Now that the vulture has come to roost next to me I can only hope it doesn’t happen to you. If it does, hopefully you can draw on my experience and know what to expect and possibly convince the powers that be that a block of condominiums might not be the best thing for your neighborhood.
May the shade of seven houses never darken your garden.
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