The benefits of speaking idiot

These two weeks have been far from joyous. The workmen demolished my kitchen and left me with a pile of rubble. My kitchen is boxed and sitting in the living room, as is my full-sized refrigerator. And the dust and dirt and grime are everywhere. I feel like I'm camping out-and the guys come and go as they wish, which means I am left sitting like a lemon until they decide to grace me with their presence. Anyone who has ever had a new kitchen installed knows exactly what I am feeling: murderous!

I've had my laptop hidden under a pile of clothes, hoping it wouldn't get really dirty. I don't know where all this dirt comes from, or how it gets everywhere-but I covered the microwave (now sitting on the kitchen table, also in the living room) and it is filthy. I guess I know what I will be doing when -if-they ever finish: cleaning. Probably for days, maybe weeks. Ugh. I just try to bear in mind that when it is all done it will be much nicer than the prehistoric kitchen I had before. Hopefully.

I consider myself to be bilingual. My first language is English. My second is idiot. After so many years here, I am quite proficient in idiot. And that didn't help me with most of the workmen, because most of the workmen don't speak a word of English. So there hasn't been a lot of conversation in the past two weeks. There has, however, been a lot of pointing (from me) and a great deal of headshaking (from them). And they look at me when I am trying to communicate-and they grunt. There is a lot of grunting. So today I decided to dig out my laptop, and I'm sitting on the bed with my computer in my lap (good job it's called a laptop, isn't it).

I had one bit of excitement in these two weeks of sitting on my backside and missing any and all really lovely weather. On Friday, the psycho from upstairs walked into my apartment. His kitchen is being replaced, too-and he took it upon himself to try to push past one of the workmen. I saw him in all his garb: dirty white (or, rather, off-white) dress, headgear, the whole deal (I don't know what they call the uniform, so apologies to any Muslims who are offended. Tough). He was trying to get past the workman and I screamed for him get out. I told the workman (Greg) that there is a restraining order against this man, and he practically had to push the psycho out the door. So I called the police.

It has been a trip and a half since Friday. I had to go to the local cop shop and have a two hour interview about all this, and I was told that a police officer would contact me within 24 hours. Good thing I didn't hold my breath-I'm still waiting. Grrrr...between the useless workmen and the even more useless police, all I do is wait. Will they do anything? Probably not. They usually wait for someone to be murdered-and then won't do anything without a witness or CCTV. I suppose it's too much paperwork.

So that is where we are at the moment: drinking coffee and sitting on my behind, waiting for things to be finished. It might be a long wait. See what I mean about speaking idiot.

Next time I will write some jokes. In English, too!