Tuesday, July 12, 2011
There was a pathetic knock at the door, so I answered it. A young man dressed in a tan cowboy hat, dark blue jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots wanted me to pay him to mow my lawn.
I looked over his left shoulder and evaluated the length of my grass. It didn't need to be mowed, it needed to be watered and fertilized. Too bad he didn't specialize in crabgrass.
"What about your backyard?" he desperately added before I could say no. Followed by his failed grass cutting aspirations. I could almost hear sad violins playing to the sound of neighbors slamming their doors in his face.
I asked him to come back, but he sniveled that the block he had to push his ratty lawn mower was too far for that. While his sales skills were lacking he had guilt down pat.
He finished mowing my front lawn, and returned to the front door. I paid him twenty dollars for the entire five minutes it took him to pretend to cut the grass.
"The slant of your yard broke my lawn mower," he accused after the money was in his hand.
"I'm sorry," was all I could muster up.
"No really! Do you want to see?" he insisted. "The wheel broke off!"
"No...I believe you..." I told him.
He stood in front of me in an awkward silence. "I guess I'll have to try and push it home," he finally spoke when it was apparent I wasn't offering up any more dough. "I can't mow any more lawns now," he complained as he clanked down the street.
I'd like to think my slanted yard did that cowboy a favor.