A Crabby Day From Hell:

A non-fiction account of a youth with aspirations of

beer, cigarettes and gas money

Two hours after the day I graduated from high school I was notified that my services were no longer welcomed at the house where I had resided since Mom got remarried 4 years ago.  Ok, fess up.  I got kicked out due to my Andrew Dice Clayish verbal skills.

The door swung both ways that day mind you.

Soon after, I was at my dad's apartment (temporarily until summer was over and I would start Tech Schooling for what I do now as a career) sleeping on a couch a foot shorter than my 6 foot frame. 

I reveled in my new found freedom! 

Living at dad's was really cool, no fuckin' rules man!!! But dad never liked a bum so he didn't give me any cash.  I had to make it on my own, and I still thank him for that. 

I always thought it was due to cheapness, but now 15 years later, I realize he wanted me to be able to fend for myself in this unpredictable world.  Nothing is free, get off your ass and make your own duckets (well, due to his cheapness I threw in a little embellishment). 

Plus I needed cigarettes, beer, and gas for the lime green Shove-it (Chevette, but I pushed that fucker for more miles than I ever drove it) - 4- door, manual,  bitchin' Kraco self- installed stereo system, 10 band equalizer, and 11 speakers throughout the chick magnet.  Luckily the speakers had magnets on the back.  I just stuck ‘em right to the bare metal roof.  Back then that was called surround sound.

So I drive this beauty around town to find a JOB........I had worked paying jobs before, McDonald's and bussin' tables and washin' dishes at a marina.  I loved the latter job, but quit for reasons I forget.  I bee-bop around town, and get turned down for employment over and over, mostly due to my long black Slashesque locks.  I am not gonna get a haircut, forget it, I was metal baby!!!.......

I am getting frustrated as hell, and my job finding radius reached to the very outskirts of town.  My almost last hope......down a dirt road laid a sprawling landscaping company, trees, bushes, flowers, sod. I walk up to the trailer office, enter, and proceed to apply for an opening as a lawn mower man.  I leave hoping to get a call.  I get one - report in two days at 6 a.m. I am happy as a clam.  I am envisioning cartons of cigs, 12 packs of beer, and a full tank of gas!!!

My day from hell is about to begin:  Stardate 1988, summertime, 6 a.m., muggy as shit in the thick humid Maryland air, coolish, but we’ll be hitting some good high temps on this clear day. 

I arrive to see a large beat up beige work truck, 4 doors and three rows of seats.  Attached is a long trailer, presumably stuffed with lawn maintenance equipment. I meet the foreman for the first time.  Instantly I got that "asshole" feeling, but I am here to get paid, fuck it.  I load up with the other very tanned veteran employees and a fellow newbie.  Now this newbie is rather rotund and I didn’t see him making it in this heat. Haha, he ain't the only one..........He is very quiet and pale.   I was not tan myself. 

I take my spot in the back next to Newbie, as I will call him (I have no recollection of any of the names here on out).  I have no idea what my day will entail, no itinerary, location unknown until I asked in the truck..........2 hours away, D.C., murder capital of the country, apartment complex, no idea on return time, "when job is fucking finished" as I was informed by Mr. Foreman (the asshole).  The veterans get a chuckle out of this.

I am already on his shit list before the truck is even warmed up.  I don't care.  I know I can do this.  It's just mowing a damn lawn and goin' home.  How hard could it possibly be?

..........I don't recall much of the trip up to the D.C. apartment complex, I probably just sat, stared, and kept my trap shut as not to incur any more of Mr. Foreman's wrath as he piloted the rig down the road....

Finally we arrive 2 hours later.  It's unload time; the veterans are quick to get the preferred equipment, the best operating self propelled lawn mowers with a left and right brake mechanism, set up not to allow you to use both at the same time to stop the metal beasts.  Just left and right turns at a hurried double march time pace. The veterans go like madmen attacking the high grass without any motivation from Mr. Foreman.  It seems that they respected him and gave it 110% always. 

Me and Newbie are set aside for orientation.  Mr. Foreman starts with something to the effect of, "this is the left brake, this is the right brake, you (Crabby) are going to mow that area over there and, Newbie, you are going to mow over that area." 

He starts the first mower after a couple of pulls on the ripcord and sticks Newbie behind it and off the fatty went........Mr. Foreman has the last mower out for me, tries to start it with quick pulls of the ripcord and it seems to be temperamental and refuses to start for the asshole. 

He is getting agitated quickly, cursing profusely.  He tries 8 ways to Sunday to fix the problem, and after about 20 minutes it starts. Hooray!!! Mr. Foreman looks me dead in the eye with sweat dripping down his red fat cheeks and onto his white wife beater, tuffs of hair sticking out all over, and states, "don't you fucking turn this mower off for anything, until it is empty of gas, or I am gonna be pissed."

My lord, the thoughts that ran thru my head!  I was thinking this might be my last day on earth and had to share it with the Grim Reaper.

Well off I went up the hill about 150 yards away to my area and I am learnin' myself on the large mechanical beast that refused to slow down. I spy back to the truck to see Mr. Foreman's fat redneck ass load himself up onto his RIDING lawn mover, canopy over top for shade, and aircraft carrier type ear muffs to protect his hearing.

I mind my own biz and concentrate on the job at hand.  I am doin' pretty darn good.

The heat is starting to rise, and I am sweating profusely thru my white t-shirt and full length blue jeans (a requirement, no shorts allowed, insurance purposes I gathered) and I have a rather large mop of jet black hair to kick it up a notch for fun.

I am getting the hang of using the braking system and I can navigate around tight areas and learn to tilt the beast on its hind wheels to get me out of a jam, no reverse on these puppies.

As I follow the edge of the side walk approximately 30 or 45 minutes into my run, I come upon a lamp post about 3 or 4 inches in diameter and want to do a loop around so I don't have to weed whacker that later.  I set my approach rather close to the post, and, ironically and unknowingly,  the space between the front wheel and blade housing on the beast is slightly smaller than the  diameter of the post, and I proceed to misjudge my entry in to the daring loop-dee-doo only to get the post stuck in that spot. 

Great, lucky me. 

I hold on for dear life and circle around 10 or 12 times trying my best to unlatch the beast. No can do, not with all my might and fear of losing my young precious life.

Well, now I am in a strange and at the time un-humorous pickle. What to do, what to do?  I can't just spin around all day, so I just up and let go of the self propelled mower.  It was having fun just doing loop after loop un-manned as I went to go seek out the friendly Mr. Foreman.

I would have just left, but I was nowhere near home.   I didn't even know my exact location.

I see Mr. Foreman and his riding mower just down the hill.  As I am walking towards him, he is making a turn and spots me!!!!  He looked very, very, very, very perturbed to say the least.   I felt really really small and just wanted to hide in a safe spot for about a week, but HAD to face up to him. 

He stops his mower with fury and lights into me about why I am not at my mower!!!!. 

I just utter, "You told me not to turn the mower off for anything, follow me, you just have to see it to believe it." 

I feel death knocking at the back of my skull, and my brain screaming, “Run, Crabby, run!!!”

We go up the hill, heat blazing on the hot black asphalt.  We crest the hill and he can just see the handle bar of the mower still going in circles around the lamp post.  Slowly the whole picture of the situation comes into view as we get to the top of the hill.  He just blankly stared in amazement.  I was ready for a punch to the temple, if not worse.  I ain't heard cussin' like that in real life since I lived at Mom's house.

He walks up to yank the mower off the post, to no avail.  Now he is forced to turn the mower off himself........ugh!!  About 10 minutes later we pry it off the metal post.  Once again he once tries to start the mower. 

It won't start for shit.

We go back to the trailer with the mower and try to start it there after some modifications; primer, clean air filter, the whole works.

I just watch, and hope for the best.

I was overjoyed when it finally kicked on and Mr. Foreman was quite pleased with his mechanical know it all.  But he looked at me with pissed piercing eyes.

We are standing next to each other side to side with the lawn mower in front of us, waiting a couple of seconds to make sure it ain’t gonna die, LOL.  More luck ensues for me; the beast starts out with its low engine sound.  Then the noise starts to get a pitch higher in tone each passing second.  Mr. Foreman and I stand in the same spot not moving an inch, perplexed at the beast, until the noise reaches a really really high pitch sound, like bad feed back not uncommon to my metal ears. Next the most dreadful thing happened. 

KAAAAPOW!!!!!, THE BEAST BLOWS UP!!!.

The internal cogs just went bonkers and ripped off a rather large chunk of jagged sharp metal plating.  It flies right in between Mr. Foreman and me.  Very hot black gooey oil spews out like an oil rig coating the both of us almost head to toe! I could have died and been happy to finally get it over with right then and there.  I was so dumbfounded I don't even recall what Mr. Foreman said or did, but I guarantee it was not fun time for Crabby. 

And it's only like 10:30a.m. 

More tribulations to come, my day ain’t over yet...........

PART II later, same Crab time, same Crab channel.............

yOUR dEAR fRIEND, tHE cRABS

by

Crabby Ass