Rain Dances

                                                              Rain Dances

     I gotta tell you, I don’t know where this country is coming to nowadays.  I mean you can’t do a damn thing on your own property unless some city hall bureaucrats give their imperial   approval. You can’t even give aid to people in dire need without first being licensed up to your eyeballs. Take my good friend Egbert  Ebenhoffer for instance.  That man is a saint and, simply by peering into your mouth and feeling the lumps on top of your head, could tell what's wrong with you.  Yea, no kidding, he could work miracles on your body with just his thumbs alone. But just let Egbert give you a bit of medical advice (for a small gratuity of course) and he would have opened a flood gate of law enforcement agents.  They would descend on him like a hoard of locust and fine him thousands of dollars for practicing without a license.  They would incarcerate him and leave him to mingle with harden criminals , and all because he believes in helping others.  I’m saying this because I want to point out how we are all slowly becoming victims of big government.

       I mean, even if you can do something miraculous, like raising the dead, you would still have to have official approval.  You want to know the real reasons why Jesus was crucified on the cross?  He didn’t have all those stamped permits when he raised the dead.  He also didn't get the city's okay when he produced all those extra loaves of bread and fishes.  And I am almost certain he didn’t have a license to walk on water.  I bet it was bureaucrats waiting for him at the other end of the pier with hammer and nails and a very large wooden cross.

     Take my case for example.  A while back, a windstorm tore a hole on the roof of my garage so it leaked a little.  I didn't care about the leak, but the roof was ancient and it looked really bad.  It was a blight on the neighborhood, and I personally took on the  responsibility of fixing it because I'm a civil minded kinda guy.

      It was summer before I could get it started.  I set about replacing, not just the hole, but  the entire roof.  I was gonna do it all by myself: don’t need hired help for a simple job like that…not that I couldn't afford it, mind you.  I'm retired and all that, but I was smart with my investments, and I stayed married.

 

     It was so nice being high up there on the roof, straddling the peak, looking up at the wide blue sky above, and down at the wide green yard below.  And there is also  something very satisfying about tearing away old nails and yanking out old rotten shingles.   Reminds me of pulling teeth.  It took me nearly three days to strip it off, and near the end, I began noticing some clouds.  Not much, just a few.  Then it began to rain.  I mean, it poured.  This is July, Goddamn it!  Who would expect rain in the middle of July?  Things in the garage got water damaged because I never thought of covering the exposed area with a tarp.  After all, we were in the middle of summer, right? 

 

     My neighbor across the street had similar work done on her roof years ago, in the middle of summer, as I recall and it rained even then.  She said that you don’t need rain dances when you want rain; just strip off your roof.  Do you know there’s a lotta truth in that?  See it happening all the time.  Didn’t particularly care for her.  Always checking through the blinds to see what I was up to.  A really snoopy old woman,

      By the time the rain stopped, my back was killing me and my hamstrings were sore as hell, but I clenched my jaw and worked through the pain.  I was half way done with the repairs when my inquisitive neighbor came sauntering over, stopping in front of the garage and drawing little circles in the sawdust with her big toe. I was bent over on the peak of the roof, about to drive some nails into the caps when she looked up and waved to get my attention.  She yelled something about how come she never saw the building inspector come by?  Now, why would a building inspector come by? I asked her.  They always do when you got a building permit, she replied.  Building permit?

 

     “You did get one, didn’t you?”  She asked.
    
     "I  didn’t know I needed one...," I replied

     “So you don't have one?.” She asked, innocently.  Who wants to know? I said.  She grinned, then went back into her house.  I could just see her, picking up the phone and calling those city hall licensing people. I was beginning to hate her.  I got down off the roof and began picking up the rotten shingles scattered all over the ground.  I began to nudge my extra tools behind the bushes, and I got paranoid everytime I saw break lights flashing on from a passing truck. I couldn’t work under those conditions so I had to  call those city hall  bureaucrats to see what the situation was.  I reached for my cell phone, looked up the number,, and quickly punched it in.   Anyways, I got an answering machine and, after pressing the pound sign a couple hundred goddamn times, my call was routed to a department entitled BUILDING INSPECTORS.

 “Hello, building inspectors?”

     “Yes sir, what can we do for you?” He had a pleasant voice but you can never go by that.  All these bureaucratic minions have soothing voices, especially the male ones.

      “I have a question....and it's hypothetical.  If a windstorm rip a small hole in a garage roof, and I want to patch it up so the neighbors don't have to look at it, do I need a building permit?  It's a little roof on a little garage that can barely squeeze in a motorbike and some garden tools.  I mean, really, does a teeny weeny little job like that require a permit?” I tired to be blasé.

     “Well, now, that all depends,” he replies

     “That all depends on what?” I ask.

     “Excuse me sir, but whom am I talking to?”

     “Why?  Is that important?” apprehension has crept into my voice.

     “No, not really...Now if you could...uh...give me the location of this garage, maybe we...”

     “I told you, the garage is hypothetical, and no, all I want is a straight answer.  Do I, or do I not need a permit to repair a damaged shingle roof over a garage.  Just give me a straight answer, that’s all I want..”

     “If I could just have your name, sir, maybe we could....”

     Suddenly, I realized, my call could be traced!  I quickly hung up, got into my car and drove across town.  It took me a while to find a phone booth that wasn't vandalized, or had sticky floors, or had stale urine odors.   I found a decent one inside a liquor store.  The cashier kept leaning towards me to get the drift of my conversion so I had to whisper into the receiver. I went through several voice recordings and, just my luck, the first real person to answer was the same goddamn person I was talking to before.  He asked the same questions and got the same answers, and when he asked for my name, I told him my name was Rond, James Rond.  He asked me if I was kidding.  I said no, I was not kidding, and told him in no uncertain terms that I resented his suspicious attitude. When he asked for my address, I gave him the address of my lawyer (he should do something for his retainer, other than playing golf with me).  I could hear him scribbling away in his note pad and hand signaling his cohorts to warm up the car.  He must have recognized my voice, I mean, he knew I was the original caller.  I could tell.

     Anyway, he informed me that if the repaired was over ten feet square, then I would need a permit, which incidentally would cost thirty dollars and only if they okay the plans.  Plans? What plans? Who needs plans? And he continued, saying that if by chance, this hypothetical person had so foolishly repaired this hypothetical roof without a permit, well then, this hypothetical person would have to hypothetically tear it down, all of it, piece by piece, every cap, every header, every shingle, every single little nail, and he emphasized ‘EVERY’.  I could tell he was a vindictive little bastard, probably wears braces on his capped teeth.    

     I hung up the phone when I realized he was just keeping me on the line so he could trace it.  You think not?  Do I see raised eyebrows?  Okay, skeptic, it’ll be your turn next.  And it will come, it will come.

       Well, I measured the repair work done and it was way over ten square feet, but I’m not going to report it.  I waited until half past five in the evening to work on the roof because those  government people don’t work after five.  Didn’t know that, did you?  It’s all part of the civil service code, and they don’t let any of their members violate it.  Makes the rest of them look bad.  The way things stand I may have to kill that nosey neighbor of mine.  I doubt if anyone would miss her.  There she is, peeping out from behind those blinds and debating whether to call the city inspectors or not. I can read her mind. She's hesitating because she knows I know where she lives.

     I admit, it’s strange, breaking the law.  Not the least bit unpleasant, and it does get you out of a rut.  You begin to see things in a different light.  You end up wanting to experiment with life,  Like going on the town, drinking in bars, patronized by customers that have tears tattooed beside their eyes, buying them drinks....and befriending them.

      So far they haven’t discovered my new roof yet, but my lawyer happen to mention the other day on the sixth hole, about this strange white truck that’s been cruising up and down the street in front of his house.  The driver had a pair of binoculars and was spying on his roof.  Kinda scary.  He asked me if I knew anything about this.  Me? How would I know?  I didn't even know that it could rain in the middle of July.