Hepcat and I were having Greek salad for lunch at home when the phone rang.

Ring. Ring.

"Did you call yesterday to complain about construction noise?" a man with an adorably New Yawk accent said to me on the phone

"No, I think you have the wrong number," I said.

"Ahhhh, let me check," he said.
"Hey, did you make a noise complaint?" I said to Hepcat who was eating some lettuce. 
"Yeah. That was me," he said as he grabbed the phone.
I was more than a little surprised.

But then again Hepcat is a man of few word (they don’t call him No Words_Daily Pix for nothing and I guess this didn’t warrant a mention when I asked him how his day was yesterday.

"How was your day, honey?" I asked. "Fine." was his simple reply."
Here’s a more detailed version of what Hepcat told the guy on the phone.

HEPCAT’S ACCOUNT OF YESTERDAY’S INCIDENT

Yesterday there was a DEP crew on Sixth Avenue at the intersection of Third Street jackhammering the pavement away from a manhole cover.
Rather than the usual jackhammer as loud as a jackhammer, it was the jackhammer as loud as a jackhammer in your very own bathroom while you have a hangover.
In other words much much louder than normal jackhammers that we all know and love. So as I walked by on my way to  UHaul, I noticed that the jackhammer didn’t have the so-called muffler that they’re required to have in New York City. If you haven’t noticed, most jackhammers have a gadget that looks like a small lawn mower muffler sticking out of them or are wrapped up in a little blanket much like a newborn baby.
These are required by the city because they cut the noise considerably.
So I stopped and asked the work crew why didn’t their jackhammer have the New York City required swaddling?
"You’re supposed to have a muffler on that, why don’t you?  I said fully expecting the converation to go along the lines of:
THEM: "We have no idea what you’re talking about."
ME: "Tell your supervisior to give you the right equipment. It’s making too much noise."
THEM: "Thanks, buddy." 
Basic good samaritan stuff.
Instead, a crew member said:  "So you want to make something of it? Why don’t you call 311?" interspersed with colorful Anglo Saxon construction terms of art.
So I said: "I’ll do just that!" And I took my handy cell phone out of my pocket and one of the crew members started waving a shovel over my head and made various threats.
One of the others tried to reason with the guy: "Put that down," he said.
The shovel-guy chased me west on Third Street and finally was stopped by one of the other crew members.
Phew.
Shaken up, I continued walking toward Fifth Avenue. When I finally calmed down, I called 311 and started telling them the whole thing. When we got to the shovel waving portion of the account, they switched me to the 911 operator because of threats and assault by shovel. But, I don’t know, it seemed like the door was opening into a weeks-long Kafkaesque episode I didn’t want to be part of.
"So I told the 911 people I didn’t want to press charges and all that. I finished talking to the nice people at 311 who were very professional and that was that until the phone call we just got
It was  than 24 hours later. Some of the city employees are doing a very nice job and some of them…."

END OF HEPCAT’S ACCOUNT.

So when was Hepcat going to tell me that he nearly got hit on the head with a shovel?