Frontin' - An Open Letter

Open Letter to the Construction Workers that apparently now reside on my street,

Hi guys....I'm glad you've moved on from being directly in front of my house and are now just in the process of piling up giant heaps of gravel and dirt and whatever material you can locate. At least, any materials that require the use of giant, growling machinery that will most make my house appear to be coated in a fine brownish gray powder. I really appreciate your attempts at being subtle when you stomp through my yard in your size 12's.

You may not appreciate the fact that Daylight Savings was invented partially for your benefit. However, it has come to my attention that that you've lately been severely abusing the early dawns that we've been enjoying (and by "we", I mean you, me and the cats because we all have the joy of greeting the new day together, thanks to your incredibly noisy machinery). Since I work mostly out of my home, the noises you make most of the day disturb me to the point of being just barely functional for my clients. I classify it as noise pollution of the worst kind - unrelenting, unapologetic and at all the wrong times of day.

In my line of work, we are often penned in by these pesky things called "Noise ordinances". These city-enforced rules that make it so that I have to make my valued clients have to shut their weddings and parties down at ten or eleven. If I were to have my husband DJ a house party in your neighborhood and it went on till two in the morning, you would most certainly call the police. After all, according to page 6 of Appendix H of your own noise study, "noise consists of any sound that may produce physiological or psychological damage and/or interfere with communication*, work**, rest***, recreation and sleep."
*See: My missing eight out of ten calls, despite my ringer being set to "LOUD"
**See: Inability to finish an email in under twenty minutes
***See: Bags and dark circles under my eyes that make me appear to be 50 years old.
****See: I can't possibly think about entertainking because no one can find a bloody place to park on our street, due to the piles of rubble and tractors that live here now.
I don't even want to talk about sleep.

This morning was the last straw: At ten minutes till six there was a sound like a runaway train and a bone-crunching clash of gears. I hope you don't mind when we show up at your front door tonight, and every night for the next three months and put on a great mix of music that will probably delight your children and horrify your wives. Trust me,the sight of your 12 year old daughter dancing with the neighbors' kid to the new Ludacris song. If we could just keep things down to a dull roar until the (ungodly) hour of seven, I won't have to file another complaint with all of your bosses.