I love what I do. I love what I do. I love what I do.
But…………………then there are days that start off like today.
I should have known better.
It was bound to happen.
Prologue: Last September we conducted what should have been a very simple survey. Enter the Wicked Witch of the West and her evil twin, Wicked Witch of the Southeast. They clearly decided to hate anyone moving into a certain house that was for sale. That happened to be my client who simply wanted to find out where the existing privacy fences were located relative to her property lines. She wanted to rebuild the one on the west side if it was in the wrong place and build it as tall as the city would allow. We found all of the original pipes from forty years ago, set by the City Engineer, who was the primary surveyor in that city working on weekends. The east line was very close to matching the line and actually bent into her property by about a foot at one end. No big deal. The neighbors to the east were very friendly and saw where the pipes were located, including the ones on the other side of their lot that we had recovered to confirm our work.
Earlier this week: The Wicked Witch of the West calls to ask questions, which I carefully did not answer as I could tell she had me on speaker phone for some reason. She told me a big sob story involving the new owner of the lot to the east of my September client whose husband had died lately. (A lie as he died two yeas ago, long before the widow moved into the neighborhood.) She tried to tell me that I only surveyed the one line (between her and my client) and I assured her I had surveyed the opposite side as well plus finding quite a few other monuments in that area so as to arrive at a degree of assurance that they were in agreement with the subdivision plat. Later the same day, I get a call from my September client. It seems the new neighbor on the east has been turned against her and convinced that six foot of her property was inside by client’s fence. She asked if I would come by, find those pipes again and drive steel posts next to them, as we had done on the west side last September. I said, “Sure, it won’t take ten minutes and we will surely be gone before the neighborhood even knows we have arrived.”
Today: Within three minutes we had found both pipes, undisturbed and precisely in agreement with what we had affirmed in September. As I step to the front door to alert the nice lady that we needed the steel posts I caught a glimpse of the Wicked Witch of the West heading out of her house, clearly to talk at me. As I turned to get off the front porch, I saw what turned out to be the new Wicked Witch of the East heading straight towards me. Obviously, she had been alerted by the Crone of the West. She began to tell me all the crap she had been fed while attending the weekly meeting of the coven. I promptly showed her the front pipe and walked her to the back pipe. She then assured me they had been moved by my September client after I left. I assured her that was not true as we had double checked against her other two corners. She then demanded (snarled, actually, with perhaps a bit of a cackle) that I prove to her those pipes really existed. The whole time, the West Bitch is trying to record anything I saw on her smartphone and take pictures of the pipes and the surroundings. As we are nearing the survey chariot to exit some other old biddy comes walking by with her wrinkled old husband. She inserts herself into the discussion by explaining how she had lived around the corner for 43 years and she knew for gospel fact that the owner to the east had built that fence several feet into his property on purpose. I wanted to tell her that I knew that fellow long before she did as he was good buddy of Dad since that were kids in grade school and that he would not of given up an inch intentionally. I promptly added her to the coven, mentally. We left.
A few hours later, while chowing down at Sonic for lunch, I told my co-worker that if a bunch of old biddies were wanting to fight over six inches, somebody’s husband should be involved. He about choked on his bacon-on-bacon sandwich. Two minutes later he said, “Do not look out your window.” So, I didn’t until the vehicle to my right was stopped and the view of the driver was obscured. I knew that vehicle. It was the Wicked Witch of the West. We fired up and left immediately.
Of all the burger joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she had to turn into that one.
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