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Book of Jobs Part 1


by Chris Auman

I wasn’t allowed to mow our own lawn (I think my Mom thought that our hilly, knolly, sink-holey backyard was too dangerous). I did, however, mow a strangers’ lawn here or there. They weren’t really strangers, I mean, I wasn’t trying to shake anyone down. (“Looks like your lawn got mowed, pal, that’ll be five bucks.”) They knew I was going to mow their lawns. I just don’t remember their names.

One lawn I mowed was all the way across town. It was just a little patch of grass that probably took ten or fifteen minutes to mow. The hard part was loading and unloading the lawnmower from the trunk of the ‘78 Chevy Malibou (the car my Dad got for me and my sister to destroy). The house whose lawn I was to mow, belonged to a real estate agent who didn’t live there. It didn’t seem like anyone actually lived there yet there was no ‘For Sale’ sign on the property. At any rate, the grass had to be cut. My Dad set the deal up and the real estate agent told him that this gig, which paid five dollars, was so easy it was like walking down the street and finding five bucks on the ground. I thought a more apt analogy was, walking down the street, unloading a push mower from the trunk of a car, mowing a slightly sloping lawn (every lawn in Galena involves a hill of some degree), awkwardly reloading the mower into the trunk and then finding five bucks on the ground. But that was just my lawn mower’s perspective on the situation.


Foodservice is Your Future >>

Originally published in RW#22, 2014

RW #22


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