a room with no view

Living in an apartment in Manhattan has its drawbacks.

For instance, you can't control the view.

Today I hear the not totally unfamiliar —but still alarming — sound of workmen dropping big metal sheets outside my window.

The last time this happened was a few years ago. The end result was a sidewalk shed outside my window that blocked my ability to see the street.  It was supposed to last no more than six months. Instead, it lasted fifteen months, ending in May 2016. 

The city requires buildings to re-point every ten years. And to protect pedestrians from falling debris, they must build a very ugly sidewalk shed. 

So why is this happening again only four years later?

Well it turns out that the building next door needs to be re-pointed,  And, as required by law, the sidewalk shed has to end 20-feet past where the work is being done. And that 20-feet includes my front and side living room windows.

I have no argument; it's the law.

But I do try and befriend Mario, one of the workers I spot. 

Seeing me in tears, Mario agrees to use chicken wire near my windows vs. the heavy, opaque wooden boards that are used everywhere else. This way, I can at least see some of the street.

Also by law, Mario and his crew are required to post three signs:  one facing West, one facing North, and one facing East. The northward facing sign is the view I'm now stuck with every time I look out my living room window. Which, by the way, is all the time.

I try begging with Mario to move the sign. But again..."Sorry, we can't. It's the law. The city requires a clearly posted sign in every direction." 

My friends post photos of their beautiful views in the Hamptons.  The Cape.  Colorado.  And California. They overlook white-capped waves on the Atlantic ocean.  Expansive vineyards.  Infinity pools. Or just a couple of Adirondack chairs in a quiet backyard.

While I may envy their views, surely no one is envying mine.

Just one more reason to hate the summer of 2020.