If a family member breaks my favorite irreplaceable dish, bestowed to me by my deceased grandmother…
It was an accident. Get over it!
If someone left a cotton ball soaked in acetone nail polish remover on the new coffee table, causing the finish and stain to permanently disappear…
It had to have been a temporary lapse of good judgment. Don’t yell!
If I almost run over the Google Fiber workman in my driveway one morning because I’m arguing with my girls about why they’re always running late…
I’m sure those workmen are used to it. Just smile and nod!
Google Fiber sure tests my happy magnet. It’s taking over the scenery of our town. Do they assume I prefer listening to their constant machinery cacophony? It’s the perfect audible blend of discord that makes my stomach border on nausea and my head bang to the beat.
Have you seen these workmen, with floating heads lining the curbs of our streets? Their bobbing, white safety helmets remind me of a natural history museum panorama, where the prairie dog’s head raises up and down from his hidey-hole.
Yet, if you’re yearning for faster computer loading time, then your heart might skip a joyous beat gazing at the destruction of yards. I realize it’s the city’s turf from the sidewalk to curb, but if the city is claiming that part of my yard, I think they should mow it.
If you care less about speed, use a dial-up modem, or are wary of modern advancements due to the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” theory, then I can appreciate your irritation. However, my unsolicited advice is it might be time to head down to your winter home in Scottsdale, Ariz., or add yoga or meditation to your daily routine.
My family is cautiously hopeful about Google Fiber. I guess that makes us middle aged? No need for yoga or Arizona real estate yet, but we won’t be first in line for the switchover.
So that same morning, after dropping off my daughters at school, I turned onto my street to see my new head-nod buddies. Every time I passed them that first day, I’d give the Midwest head nod or the dirt road farmer’s finger wave. You know the one — where you lift your index finger straight up off the steering wheel, keeping eyes forward, and no trace of a smile.
Those Google Fiber men were still hard at work, now buried to their knees in my cul-de-sac. Once again, my inner tug-of-war battle begins.
I know the final product will be convenient and someday I’ll wonder how I ever lived without it; but how is my yard going to look after they put it all back together?
Will they plow through our sprinkler system and mess with our perfected angles of yard saturation?
And what if we decide to put our house on the market that day? The photos would be atrocious!
As it turned out, I needed to be patient and dial down the worry monitor. At the end of the day, the workers put the yard back together beautifully, and life went on as it always does.
But earlier that afternoon, when the men had dug themselves neck high, it hit me. This day was just a petty complaint. I could turn my frown upside down by pranking my kids on the ride home with tales of floating heads by our driveway.
It turns out my dose of fiber was served with a cup full of laughs that day, and thankfully my ears have finally stopped ringing.