May 25, 2019
“…to the dread rattling thunder have I given fire and rifted Jove’s stout oak with His own bolt! And lo’ the weeds before my feet were fell by my so potent art…”
The Tempest (Tim Allen Adaptation)
There are only two times in my life that I have ever needed a chainsaw. Both of those times the same thing happened. I will tell you about one.
After a storm a tree fell on my property. I needed to remove it. It was large and heavy so it needed to be cut up into manageable pieces. Now I am a terrible handyman. I genuinely am unsure what exactly a Phillips screw driver is much less which direction to turn it. And who the hell is 'Phillips' anyway?
I have cultivated this incompetance to a fine art. I have worked very long hours at my job so since I was earning a generous income I felt perfectly justified in “calling someone” to do such things. I had no interest in learning them. I owned a pair of work gloves. They were very clean.
However, sometimes such learned laziness would back fire on me. Whenever we were visiting with other couples, the men would invariably discuss some DIY project they were doing. My eyes would glaze over and I would look for opportunities to change the subject. I would nod knowingly and try to fake my way through a subject. But as friends got to know me, they would see through the facade and know I was a complete fool.
So back to the tree. It looked pretty straight forward to me. Just cut the tree and put it in the wheelbarrow. There may be a pull start involved, but I could get Colleen to to that part. Besides, it would give me an excuse to buy some cool safety glasses so I could look like Bono.
I called my friend Andy. Andy knew me. Andy wasn’t fooled.
You should know something about Andy. Andy is probably the single most competant man I know. When the zombies come (And they will) I know I will head to Andy’s home. He will be the only guy with a plan. A former fire fighter and paramedic, Andy has a huge array of tools of everything from chainsaws to an AR-15 rifle. There is no piece of heavy hand held equipment that Andy does not own. I knew Andy would be the guy to call.
Telephone rings
“Hello”
“Hey Andy, it’s Glenn, how are you?”
“I am good! Hey we need to get together!”
“I agree,” I said, ”hey I need a favor”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“Could I borrow one of your chainsaws?”
(pause)
“Why?" I explained about the tree and my plan to cut it up and put it in a pile to be taken away
“You are going to cut it up?”, he asked.
“Sure, I can do that.” I was a trained pelvic surgeon. How hard can it be?
(Very long pause)
"Hello are you there?, I said.
“I’ll be right over…”
“Andy wait! You don’t need to….”
The line was dead
You see, Andy knew me.
Andy arrived about 30 minutes later. Out of his truck he pulled a long sleek black case like you might see for a 1930’s Tommy Gun. He pulled out a gleaming toothed monster of a saw. I was immediately intimidated. Andy could see that in my eyes despite my really cool Bono safety glasses.
“Why don’t you let me do this?” , he said. And he did. Masterfully. I gathered up my hoop skirt and went and sat on the porch to watch.
I could see that what I thought was a cool feigned indifference to hardware was actually a liability. A big one.
Which brings me to the weeds.
I am retired now. I can no longer use the excuse that I was working too hard to bother with such house maintenance chores. I was simply incompetant. I could tell good jokes, but that only gets you so far.
So when our lawn maintenance guy continued to not do what we were asking of him the question arose, why don’t I mow my own lawn? I have the time. We have a bit of property and would need a riding mower. My neighbor had a sleek zero turn riding mower so I figured that was what I needed.
Curtis, my brother in law, and his husband Rusty were visiting. Both of them are highly skilled DIY experts so they were a natural source for advice. We started shopping visiting the usual haunts of Home Depot and Lowes. They had a variety of tractors at different price points. I did the best I could to fake my way through the terms “Deck height” and “trim vs Mow speed”. I fought through my practiced boredom. I was determined to learn this stuff.
“You know nothing Jon Snow”
Our final stop was a local tractor supply store. I walked in and was instantly overwhelmed. There was the showroom filled with huge mowers of brands like “Bad boy” and with seats that looked like they belong on a tank.
“Do you need a roll bar?”, the salesman asked.
A roll bar? What the hell does this thing do? It had a cup holder, a front end loader, towing capacity, and side wings for AIM 6 sidewinder missiles.
(They too were prepared for the coming Zombie invasion)
“I haven’t decided yet”, I said in a practiced nonchalance, “Can I see something at a different price point? I will not need the missile platform”
“Oh”, the salesman said disappointed. He led me to the lowest priced unit in the showroom. “I don’t have many customers that want this one. It’s called the Time Cutter 42 by Toro. It’s cheap but kind of small.”
Colleen and I knew immediately this was the right one. “I see what you mean, “ I said knowingly. You see the salesman had not yet figured out I was a complete moron. He would soon enough.
“I will also need a weed whacker”, I said confidently.
“You mean a trimmer?” Now, he knew.
“Right, I was going to say that, “ I said too fast.
He smiled and suggested, “Well if you want to do it right I would suggest the Stihl FS56 RC-E trimmer with the carbon fiber wire.
“I agree,” desperately trying to recover.
“Ok lets write it up,” he said. “Would you like me to show you how to use it?”
“Yes, please”. And he went over the features of the Stihl unit. It was long , sleek and looked like it could cut down a forest.
“Do you want to mix your own fuel?” he asked.
“You have to mix your own fuel?”. He went on to explain the nature of the engines in a very patient manner. I was grateful for his expertise.
“No, I do NOT want to mix my fuel, “ I said with assurance so I purchased premixed fuel. It was more expensive but, in my case there was less chance I would blow up the house.
“And we will take the small zero turn mower”, I said.
I left nervous. I had never used any equipment, mower etc like this before.
I got home, fired up the trimmer and immediately broke the string. This prompted a return trip to the store where the salesman patiently told me what I was doing wrong and sent me on the way again.
This morning, with great trepidation I approached the field of thick weeds that need to be cut down. I think the plants sensed my fear and turned their thick leaves toward me in defiance. I put on my Bono glasses. I entered the jungle armed.
I get it now.
I understand the visceral thrill of holding a powerful tool in your arms and mowing down your enemies, the grass, in front of you. It was potentially dangerous. You needed to be careful. And as debris flew at my face striking my Bono glasses I smiled with a maniacal glee.
It was at that moment, I was ready for the Zombies. I would protect my wife AND have a nice lawn. I did that! The weeds flew away from the might of my sword and in short time I was standing before the slain bodies of my foes.
I would leave the porch and join the fraternity of men.
At least until the mower arrives on Tuesday. But now I feel ready for it.
I only wish I ordered the missile deck now.
May 28, 2019 - Postscript
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