MOWING THE POSTAGE STAMP

I don't have a yard, so I shouldn't complain.  However, I have had a yard, a huge yard when I was a kid, and many yards since.  I know how much work it is to maintain a lawn.

That being said, I have a gripe about my neighbor's yard, which is the size of a postage stamp. 

The old neighbors, the ones who first redid the shack into livable space, used to mow their yard with a push-mower, and it took them about an hour, the yard is that small.  The next neighbors to live next door took care of the grass using a weed whacker, and it took about the same amount of time.  When the husband moved out, the ex-wife started mowing with a small gas-powered stand-up mower, and it took her about thirty minutes.

The newest neighbors, though, must think since they moved to an upscale town, they need an upscale lawn service.  The only problem is that they moved to the very-low-rent district of said town.  In this neighborhood, we don't hire lawn services; in this neighborhood, we work for the lawn services.

A couple of weeks ago, I left my house for five minutes.  I drove to the post office and took the long way home.  That's it.  That's as far as I went.  In the short time that I was gone, a landscaping truck had pulled up and blocked my driveway.  I was royally pissed, and it took me five tries to back into my driveway with the truck blocking me.  By the time I got into my house to put down my pocketbook, fully intending to give the workers a piece of my mind, they were packing up to leave.  The whole "service" part of their lawn service lasted about ten minutes, tops.

A professional lawn service … for a yard the size of a postage stamp.

I excused it as a fluke.  After all, the house just sold.  Maybe the old owner was making it look nice for the new owner.  This is not true.  The other day, they return, truck and all, and haul out their giant, golf-course-size mowers.  In less than three minutes, the back yard is completely cut.  In about forty-five seconds, the front is done.  By the time they start their mowers, they are ready to pack up and leave.

I run up the stairs and drag my son to the window.  "Look," I tell him.  "Look how frigging stupid they look on those machines in that yard!"

Son, who works sometimes for a landscaping company when he isn't working temporary accounting jobs to pass the time until his senior year at college starts, makes a disgusted click of his tongue when he sees the circus next door.  Even he knows that the pros should be cutting the tiny lawn with a hand-mower and following it up with a weed whacker.

Perhaps my new neighbor is connected to the landscaping company.  In that case, he is almost forgiven (except for the blocking of my driveway and the need for hand mowers).  But, if you live on a postage stamp and you hire the ten-acre mowers, expect the rest of us to snicker at you behind your back.  If you're trying to make a big impression in this neighborhood, you've succeeded … in making yourself into an impressively big ass. 

But, hey, I've no right to complain.  My yard is a concrete patio.  If I were to hire a service to take care of sweeping, I'd be just as big an ass as you.