Men at Work

On finding the perfect relationship...with a group of construction workers.

By Liza Persky

I was coming home from work the other day, and by work I mean my hour-long trip to Sephora looking for my favorite glitter eye pencil, and I found a note in the lobby of my building that said, "Public Notice." About a year ago a similar note was put up, and it went on to say that, starting that weekend, construction was going to begin on the 22-story high rise going up next door, and that the street would be closed to through traffic. It ended by saying, "We're all very excited about the project and hope you are too." Yeah, nothing gets me excited like 7:00 a.m. jack hammering.


And what girl doesn't love walking past a construction site four times a day...every day....FOR A YEAR? I remember one day in particular, when I was coming home from the gym at lunchtime. I didn't realize it was lunchtime until I turned my corner and fifteen sweaty, testosterone-filled men, who looked like they just finished an episode of Ultimate Cage Fighting, were lined up sitting on the ground eating pizza. I had no choice but to keep moving. I thought about crossing the street and walking home on the other side, but, co-dependently, I didn't want them to feel bad. Something tells me Oprah would NOT call that an "AHA moment."  

And, just when you think that embarrassing catcalls are the worst part of neighborhood construction, then come the mice. I have lived in my building for sixteen years (we Tauruses don't do well with change), and had NEVER seen a mouse. I once thought I did, but was relieved to discover it was only my Crabtree and Evelyn drawer sachet.  I remember putting that thing in my dresser in 1992, and honestly thinking the smell of Lavender and Tuberose on my bras would DEFINITELY help me land a husband. Well, the fact that it ended up in the corner of my bedroom collecting dust tells you how THAT worked out.

No, this time it was the real thing. And, trust me, there's no confusing the difference between a real mouse and a single girl's desperate attempt at femininity. I don't care if you are the coolest, toughest, just-one-of-the-guys type of girl around -- when you see a mouse in your house you turn into Wilma Flintstone. I may even have said, "Eeek!" I decided that construction had brought the mouse into my house, and one of those construction workers was going to get it out. I marched down the stairs, went outside, walked up to the biggest guy I saw, and said, "I have a mouse!" I don't know what my crazy eyes must have looked like, but this huge man looked more afraid of me than I was of my mouse. He told me to go back upstairs and that he would be over soon. Twenty minutes later he arrived, with three traps and a jar of peanut butter. It was the most excited I was to have a man in my apartment since....ever! Next thing I knew, a mouse was caught, and I had a brand new jar of peanut butter. 

Then there was the day I had my makeup done at the MAC counter at Bloomingdale's. I had a date that night and figured it couldn't hurt -- until I looked in the mirror. What part of, "I like the natural look," sounds like, "Tammy Faye Baker was my idol?" Walking up my street, towards my apartment, I was bracing myself for the looks and off-color remarks. Instead, what I got was, "Hey. You look like a movie star." I'm not sure what movies these guys are watching, but honestly I was flattered.

After going down construction memory lane in my head, I decided to read the note. It didn't say they were closing off the street. It said they were tearing down the scaffolding and wrapping up the job. It's over. But, instead of feeling happy, I feel kind of....lonely. As much as I have been inconvenienced, those guys kind of grew on me. Sure, they made me uncomfortable on the walk home a few times, but in a way it was nice to know they were there every day. It was kind of the perfect relationship. I never wondered where they were, or what they were doing, or who they were doing it with. And, where else am I gonna meet a guy I see every single day, who never gets sick of me? And what am I gonna do if I ever have a mouse again? Well, all I can say is, thank God for my deli guys.