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Not trivial. Aargh...
More than anything, it's the shameless groveling that gets me. One dollar-store Babbitt complains, and an entire heirarchy of wobbly-kneed truckling is galvanized into action.
I'm pretty sure I know who it is who complained -- it's a city-hall hanger-on who didn't think much of comments I made during a recent community survey about the most vital issues facing our community, in which I warned that pushing out the working class thru gentrification into a bourgeois monoculture will, in the end, destroy the community's ability to sustain itself *as* a community. She didn't like that *at all,* being a gentrifier herself, and no doubt relishes any opportunity to put a mouthy little townie like me in my place.
I drew a new WET CEMENT sign decorated with rainbows, flowers, a chirping bluebird, hearts, and a rictus-grinning portrait of myself, just for her personal edification. Oh, forevermore.
It is universal. If I had a dollar for every example of rubber spinery that I have witnessed since being employed by a municipality I could retire and never have to witness another.
It goes along with all of the shady s*#t that goes on in the background that nobody is ever supposed to hear about.
As bad as it appears, I will assure you it's actually far worse.
I have one or two in a cabinet in the garage, but I don't use them often. Frankly, it's easier to go through the car wash for a quick wash, and then check the corners when you get home.Another question.
How popular are good old (cotton) "washing mitts" in the U.S. and how much are they costing, actually?
I mean the simple ones:
https://www.bing.com/images/search?q=waschhandschuh&FORM=AWIR
In old Germany, they went the same way like bar soap. Unpopular, these days, but seemingly still selling well. Because of the unpopularity, they are dirty cheap on still fine longliving quality. And of course still washable up to 60°C.
I bought five new ones, today. 4,95 Euro each and they are the premium line-ones from one of our german frottee manufacturers!
Maybe you should put out a sign in Braille. Perhaps the offender was a "visually-impared" person (blind man, for the non-PC) and the dog was a guide dog not trained in wet cement detection.Meanwhile, you will never know how utterly loathsome human beings really are until you spend a week of your life trying to patch concrete in a sidewalk that doesn't even belong to you.
This morning I'm down at the theatre catching up on jobs that have accumulated, and my first patch of cement work has dried enough that I can move up to the next area of corrupted pavement and lay down a fresh surface to fill the holes. I put up a nice polite WET CEMENT sign with no mention of our sleazy petit-bourgeois city council, and I have taken off my overalls and am rinsing off my tools when I glance out the window to see the footprints of an enormous moose-like dog -- and the Nike sneaker footprint of its master in my fresh-laid cement, most of which has been oozed out of the hole by the elephantine tread of this moron and his moron-beast.
This wasn't a kid who did this. This was a grown-ass adult, about a size twelve from the look of his big flat clompers, and obviously someone whose agenda for the day includes wasting my valuable time. He probably let his mutt piss on my rosebush ,too.
So I go out and repatch the sidewalk, resisting the impulse to scream violent rage, and I get a big piece of chalk out of my desk and I scribe a huge circle around the patched area with DONT STEP IN THE CEMENT added in giant unmissable letters. Short of standing out there with my gun in hand, I don't know what else to do. (I am sure that wouldn't end well anyway.)
I always feel sorry for a dog that has been saddled with a buffoon for a human. They deserve better.Most of the dogs in this town are friends of mine, but many of their owners are dinks.
Add a post script, I don't car if your dog is Uggie, Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, don't pawtograph the cement. Thank you.So I go out and repatch the sidewalk, resisting the impulse to scream violent rage, and I get a big piece of chalk out of my desk and I scribe a huge circle around the patched area with DONT STEP IN THE CEMENT added in giant unmissable letters. Short of standing out there with my gun in hand, I don't know what else to do.
I always feel sorry for a dog that has been saddled with a buffoon for a human. They deserve better.
So I go out and repatch the sidewalk, resisting the impulse to scream violent rage, and I get a big piece of chalk out of my desk and I scribe a huge circle around the patched area with DONT STEP IN THE CEMENT added in giant unmissable letters. Short of standing out there with my gun in hand, I don't know what else to do. (I am sure that wouldn't end well anyway.)