I wish I knew then what I don't know now. Landscaping, either commercially or otherwise, is a very labor intensive business. Iinstalling an irrigation system first starts with calculating water in terms of flow, feet and minutes. Simple right? No. It requires math and no respectable landscaper gives a dam about math 1+1+1=2=2 much thinking, keep it simple stupid. The real deal is all the digging, lifting ,pulling, and pushing not to mention the getting dirty and sweaty. With all these shitty aspects of the job lives a mutual relationship with the finished product. The typical laborer (what I mean by typical laborer I mean field guy), from supervisor down to push mower, if he is worth his salt, enjoys the satisfaction of job completion. Looking back at a basin with lush green Bermuda grass that has just been laid down (sod) or a large patch of grass freshly mowed, his back may be tired, his legs worn out, feet sore and hands punctured with bougainvillea trimmings, his eyes (covered by company issued safety glasses) can see the fruit of his labors and feel great pleasure despite the 114 degree heat or quantity of work.
It was the summer of '78 and the Little League Championships were winding down before All-Stars. I had been attending a couple of games but had not planned on attending that night's game. That is 'til I got "the phone call".
Voice of caller (The Spider): "Hello are you so-and-so's brother?"
Dumb-ass(me, The Fly): "Yes." (desperately)
Voice of caller(The Spider):"I saw you a couple of nights ago at the game, I'd like to meet you."
Dumb-ass(me,The fly):Stick a fork in me.
Now at this point she tells me the exact place she wanted me to be so that we can hook up. I should have paid closer attention because she didn't sound like the type of girl who knows much about baseball, but she did say,
Voice of caller(The Spider):" Meet me out by the right field foul ball line."
Now I must admit when she had asked me earlier,
Voice of caller,(The Spider): "are you so-and-so's brother?"
For a split second I thought this could be so-and-so, but my fiery, swollen teenage angst, fully over-driven 15 year old hormone plagued brain cell, pretty much committed a coup on my very suspicious good sense.
To be continued...
Tomorrow we're all gonna sizzle, stay crispy. The Serial Landscaper.
