137. Safety issues (4)

The hole and its fences have become a part of the local landscape, a kind of bush which has just sprung up or perhaps an ultra-modern piece of industrial street art the inhabitants of a small town like ours do not dare complain about for fear of being seen as not forward thinking, not followers of avant-garde cultural trends ... 

Nobody dares mentioned the mundane fences preventing us from falling into a simple hole in the ground. Yet the neighbours cannot help dropping hints.

'Still haven't managed to get rid of your fences.' 

'It only takes a call to the town-hall, you know, it's their responsibility.'

'Is there an other gas leak?'

'They must have forgotten about you! I mean it's kind of a one-way street, a cul-de-sac really ...'

I moan and complain to my husband, who cannot see the problem.

'It's good, you can use them to keep lots of space between cars when we park.'

Is he hinting that I can not park properly? 

Later, I pick up the phone.

'Hello! Could I have the department responsible for the well-being of the residents of this town and by that I mean the ones who pay their taxes.' 

I really honestly did not mean to yell that last bit. But I did. On top of that I was not even sure we had paid our taxes. What if we had forgotten? Maybe that was why they would not remove the fences!

'I'll put you through to the right department.' A voice said. A voice! Do we have A.I. in our town hall! Robots! I mean, no wonder our taxes are so high. 

'Hello! How can I help?' 

Now that's me to the right department. Great. And it seems I am speaking to a human this time so I tell my story about the sniffer truck and the new bright red pipes and the treacherous hole and the fences.'

'All right. Thank you so much for this information which I will pass on to the right department. You will be informed in due time about how your request has been dealt with.'

Click. The phone goes dead. I feel cheated! An other robot surely. I feel like taking a walk up there just to check it out. But my daughter walks in.

'You OK mum?' She asks. I must have a strange look on my face as   kids rarely ask if I am ok. But she does not even wait for my reply.

'Good these fences are there, you know! Or else I would have driven into the car in front. ... I told dad ... I need more practice with parking.'

Like father, like daughter. All they can think about is parking the car!

I pick up the phone again and ask to be put through to the Streets, Roads and Pavements Department.

'Hello! How can I help you?' This time it is not a robot. It must be a human, I know because no-one in their right mind would programme a robot with such an irritating sing-song voice.

'No.' I say sharply and I mean it this time. 'No, you cannot possibly help me. Because you do not care about the four red and white fences that have been sitting in our street for 5 months. So I suggest you make a note of this: if these fences are still here at closing time today there will be up for sale on Le Bon Coin. Not as if you cared anyway because after all you are only an artificial intelligence.'

Click. Phone goes dead. And oh boy do I feel good!

Predictably closing time comes and so does November and December arrives and as I am stepping outside to place my wonderful DIY wreath on our front door and I see the fences. There. Red and white. Here for my safety. Ruining the effect of my home-made Christmas wreath complete with little shiny angels and LED light and holly and lucky mistletoe. 

I call my daughter.

'Yeah?'

'Come here, please. Grab these fences!'

She does - for once - as she is told without complaining. She must sense the danger and the urgency in my voice. We grab hold of the four fences and start making our way up the road. One of the neighbours actually comes out and help us. Ranting and raving about the useless people on the council we painfully half-carry half-drag the red and white metal fences up to the end of the street where council trucks will see them and, surely, pick them up.

The following morning they had moved again, just to the other side of the street.

This is now January 2021. The fences are still there waiting patiently for the super sophisticated A. I. robots to send a message to the relevant department. And no I have not had the heart to put them up on the local 'Get rid of your junk' website.

Red and white fences anyone?