My snowplow driver and I disagreed over what his role actually was.
In my view, his job was about removing snow from my driveway in a timely manner.
He saw things differently.
Two days after the first storm of the season, he roared into my yard to launch a shock and awe campaign against the hedges, bird-baths and patio furniture. After he spent his rage, he gouged a long brown scar across my lawn and left the driveway untouched.
We quickly parted ways. I guess, he just wasn’t cut out for the job.
Which brings me to my snow blower.
After firing my snowplow driver, I bought a blower and have been struggling with it ever since. I doubt the blower really wants to be what it is. Its heart seems to be elsewhere.
When I pull the chord to start it, the little guy complains endlessly about how he would rather sleep in. Once I get him moving, he coughs and sputters and meanders aimlessly down the driveway, picking at the snow the same way a petulant child pokes at a glob of spinach.
So I asked my buddy Stan to look at it. Stan can fix anything because he knows what machines want. You might say he is a machine whisperer.
“I fear my snow blower is not cut out to blow snow,” I told him.
Stan appeared skeptical, so I expounded on my theory.
You see, things like snow blowers are made from generic parts. The engine could just as easily go into a lawn-mower or even a go-cart. The same goes for the wheels. It is only when all of these parts come together that the machine realizes what it has become – and perhaps that is when my blower went bad.
Maybe it wanted to be something else. Something that is not locked away for the summer in a dank shed and only allowed out during the depths of winter.
As I prattled on, I watched Stan cradle the engine in his hands and run his fingers over the cables and wires. He gently rocked the blower back and forth and whispered to it as he does all of his machines.
“So what’s the prognosis,” I asked, “is it depressed or maybe caught up in some forbidden desire?”
“Naw,” he said, ”you are reading too much into it.”
He made a few adjustments then pulled the chord and the snow blower chirped to life.
“The problem,” Stan said, “was the technician who set it up. The guy did a horrible job. People like that should find a new line of business.”
Almost Iowa 