If there is one thing in life that will make you question your dignity, your decision-making skills, and possibly the laws of physics, it’s a cheap lawnmower on a hot Saturday morning.
I know this now. I didn’t know it last summer when my neighbor, Gary, waved a hand over the chain-link fence and said, “You can borrow mine if you want.”
Gary, bless him, is a man who believes all problems can be solved with duct tape and a can-do attitude. He owns a lawnmower that looks like it fought in two world wars and lost both. I should have politely declined, maybe pretended I was allergic to freshly cut grass, but instead I grinned like an idiot and said, “Thanks, Gary. That’ll save me a trip to the hardware store.”
Big mistake.
Chapter 1: The Early Morning Optimism
The day started well enough. The sun was out, the birds were chirping, and I had a mug of coffee so strong it could have powered the lawnmower without gasoline.
I wheeled Gary’s lawnmower out of his garage. The paint was mostly gone, replaced by rust patterns that looked like a treasure map. The pull-cord had a knot in it the size of a walnut. And the gas cap… well, it was technically a peanut butter jar lid.
“Don’t overfill it!” Gary shouted from his porch, sipping his own coffee like a man watching a TV sitcom. “She gets cranky if she’s too full.”
Cranky. Right. I patted the mower like it was a horse I was about to ride into battle.
Chapter 2: The First Pull
The first pull of the cord felt promising — until it stopped halfway and yanked my shoulder like I’d just been challenged to an arm-wrestling match by an angry bear.
The second pull made a sound I can only describe as a mechanical sneeze.
The third pull? A loud BANG followed by a puff of smoke that smelled like regret and old socks.
“Keep going! She’ll catch!” Gary yelled, now leaning over the fence for a better view. I kept pulling until my arm went numb, and finally, with a cough and a rattle, the beast came alive.
Chapter 3: The Noise That Shook the Block
It wasn’t so much a lawnmower as it was a portable earthquake generator. The engine roared loud enough to scare three pigeons off my roof and probably register on the Richter scale.
As I started forward, I realized the throttle was more of a “suggestion” than a control. The mower surged ahead like it had been waiting years for freedom. I was basically jogging behind it, trying to look like I was in control.
That’s when Mrs. Henderson from across the street peeked out her window. She’s the neighborhood’s unofficial security guard, and she watched me like I was attempting to steal my own lawn.
Chapter 4: The Rock Incident
I was halfway through the first row when the mower hit something — a small rock, I think. The blade clanged, the mower jumped, and the rock shot out like a cannonball, narrowly missing Gary’s mailbox.
Gary didn’t even flinch. “She does that sometimes!” he called.
I nodded as if “randomly firing high-speed projectiles” was a perfectly normal lawnmower feature.
Chapter 5: The Grass Bag Disaster
Gary’s mower had a grass collection bag that was more duct tape than fabric. Ten minutes in, it decided to quit its job and detach completely, spilling grass clippings all over my shoes.
A normal person would have stopped. I, however, decided to soldier on, because I am both stubborn and an optimist — a dangerous combination.
Chapter 6: The Great Bee Rebellion
Somewhere near the back fence, I mowed over a small patch of wildflowers. This was apparently the international headquarters for Maplewood’s bee population.
A cloud of furious bees rose into the air like a buzzing storm. I tried to run, but the mower decided to slow down, as if it too wanted to see how this would play out.
I sprinted into the open garage, swatting at my head while the mower idled outside like a faithful dog. Gary was laughing so hard he had to lean on the fence for support.
Chapter 7: The Smell of Trouble
Eventually, I noticed a smell that didn’t seem right. Not grass. Not gasoline. More like… burnt toast?
I shut the mower off and bent down. The blade was smoking slightly. The peanut butter lid was rattling. And there was a mysterious puddle forming underneath.
I decided a short break was in order.
Chapter 8: Gary’s Advice
Gary wandered over.
“Everything okay?”
“Define okay,” I said.
He lifted the peanut butter lid, sniffed, and said, “Yeah, you just need more oil. Or maybe less oil. One of those.”
I stared at him. “You don’t know?”
He shrugged. “She’s unpredictable.”
Chapter 9: The Final Push
Against all better judgment, I started it again. The mower now made a noise like a helicopter landing in a scrapyard, but it was moving.
I was almost done when the handle started wobbling like it was trying to detach itself. I gripped tighter. It wobbled harder. And then — SNAP! — the left side of the handle came loose completely.
At this point, I was steering the mower with one hand while trying not to mow my own feet off.
Chapter 10: The Dramatic Ending
With the last strip of grass finally cut, I shut the mower off. It sputtered, wheezed, and released one final puff of smoke, like it was sighing in relief.
Gary clapped. Mrs. Henderson clapped. Even the bees seemed satisfied.
Epilogue: Lessons Learned
I learned three things that day:
- Never borrow a lawnmower from a man who uses a peanut butter lid as a gas cap.
- Bees do not appreciate surprise landscaping.
- My dignity is worth more than free lawn care.
