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May 6, 2013

I was looking at the city-built fence along the side of my property yesterday. (For those of you that haven’t read my hair-raising Fence adventure, click HERE to visit the Archive section of this site; I reproduced what is shaping to be a timeless tale of hope, misery, and abject incompetence for your reading pleasure. Think of it as a modern-day Iliad, but with a fence, fewer wooden horses, and a lot more swearing.) It’s weird seeing the fence with all its bits and in all its fence-y glory.

As an aside, it turns out that the fence catches much of the neighbourhood garbage that the wind picks up. Let that be a lesson kids, be careful what you wish for… cause you might spend half your time picking up trash afterwards.

Abutting our fence is a patch of grass just in front of the house. Vaughan owns it, but I have to tend to it. I had it looking quite nice last year until the city started parking a back-hoe on it. Seems driving school for back-hoe operators explicitly instructs Vaughan civic workers to seek out fields of healthy green grass to park on ahead of, say, the adjoining street. Suffice it to say, my patch of grass isn’t so nice now. Surprisingly, tire divots are the perfect breeding ground for weeds.

The patch needs to be torn up and redone. That being well and true, I’m disinclined to dig up and redo everything — Vaughan owns it. Vaughan busted it with its Vaughan-inspired back-hoe. I think, therefore, that Vaughan should fix it. (Hehehe… Vaughan doing something. Seriously, if you haven’t read the original fence saga, do it now so you understand why this is so funny.)

It was with a sense of righteousness then that I called the City of Vaughan to complain about its transgressions. It seems the righteous in Vaughan are ill-thought of, however, as I was brusquely told that I had called the wrong department. I was put on hold and transferred to another department. After waiting for some time, I was again told that I was speaking to the wrong department and transferred.

It’s not without a measure of shame that I admit that I lost count of how many times I was transferred. Truth be told, I’m fairly sure I was transferred to departments that had already earlier transferred me somewhere else. I’m not even positive that all of the departments I spoke to actually existed. I eventually hung up; I was tired and hungry and there may have been wolves after me.

So, after spending far too much of my lunch hour on the phone, my grass is still ugly and weedy and no one is currently going to do anything about it.

Well played, Vaughan… well played.