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There's a reason my yard is so overgrown
Thursday, 4 August 2016 09:34 am"If I Am To Stand By The Door And Attack People As They Leave, How Will He Eat?"*
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Sometime last autumn, I got a phone call from my mother as I was driving home from work. It was about a young guy who had come to the door wanting to do yard work. There was some confusion about whether or not I had talked to him—I didn't remember talking to him, but I don't remember a lot of things—and later my mother became convinced that he'd misrepresented himself. I'm on the fence about this because you simply could not trust my mother's interpretation of anything she heard. She was also very unclear about whether she wanted me to hire him to do something, and if so what. I ended up paying him some unremembered amount to cut back some branches and haul them away. That was the deal.
He cut back the branches.
He did not haul them away, not all of them.
Later, he called asking for more work. I reminded him about the branches. He told me he'd take care of them.
He called again, telling me he'd be coming over to pick up the branches. He didn't.
He called again—these calls took place days or weeks apart—again looking for work. I reminded him about the branches again. He assured me he'd take care of them.
Winter came. He came back. That day I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone about anything, so I just said there was nothing I needed done and I got in my car and drove away. There was no mention of the branches, which were probably covered with snow.
A week or so ago, he came back again, looking for money—I mean, work. I laughed at him.
I told him he hadn't finished the last job I paid him for, and I certainly wasn't hiring him for another one until he did. He then made the mistake of telling me I didn't have to be a bitch.
"Really? You think not wanting to give you more money when you didn't complete the last job I paid you for is being a bitch? I didn't demand the money back. I didn't take you to court. I didn't call and harass you. I simply said I didn't want to hire you again. Your standards for bitchiness are pretty damn high."
When I get like this, I sound like my maternal grandmother. I become concise, articulate, mocking, and coldly logical. I'm scary. He backed down. I should have reminded him about the branches!
"How many times? I reminded you the first time you called looking for work again. You spontaneously called and said you were going to come pick them up—but apparently forgot, which makes me wonder how you get anything accomplished. You called again, and again I reminded you. Is this how you always do business, you only do work you're reminded of over and over and over again? I am not your mother. If you can't be a responsible adult, that's your problem, but I'm not paying you for it. Now don't come back here."
He apologized, but as he was walking away (and I was going back inside) I heard him mutter something. I was back outside like a shot. "What did you say?"
I scared the crap out of him. I don't know what he'd said, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the thank you he claimed he'd said.
I told Patrick about it later, adding that right after somebody dies is a really bad time to piss me off. I'm in a nihilistic mood and don't care what bridges I burn.
*Fritz Brenner
-:- -:- -:- -:-
Sometime last autumn, I got a phone call from my mother as I was driving home from work. It was about a young guy who had come to the door wanting to do yard work. There was some confusion about whether or not I had talked to him—I didn't remember talking to him, but I don't remember a lot of things—and later my mother became convinced that he'd misrepresented himself. I'm on the fence about this because you simply could not trust my mother's interpretation of anything she heard. She was also very unclear about whether she wanted me to hire him to do something, and if so what. I ended up paying him some unremembered amount to cut back some branches and haul them away. That was the deal.
He cut back the branches.
He did not haul them away, not all of them.
Later, he called asking for more work. I reminded him about the branches. He told me he'd take care of them.
He called again, telling me he'd be coming over to pick up the branches. He didn't.
He called again—these calls took place days or weeks apart—again looking for work. I reminded him about the branches again. He assured me he'd take care of them.
Winter came. He came back. That day I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone about anything, so I just said there was nothing I needed done and I got in my car and drove away. There was no mention of the branches, which were probably covered with snow.
A week or so ago, he came back again, looking for money—I mean, work. I laughed at him.
I told him he hadn't finished the last job I paid him for, and I certainly wasn't hiring him for another one until he did. He then made the mistake of telling me I didn't have to be a bitch.
"Really? You think not wanting to give you more money when you didn't complete the last job I paid you for is being a bitch? I didn't demand the money back. I didn't take you to court. I didn't call and harass you. I simply said I didn't want to hire you again. Your standards for bitchiness are pretty damn high."
When I get like this, I sound like my maternal grandmother. I become concise, articulate, mocking, and coldly logical. I'm scary. He backed down. I should have reminded him about the branches!
"How many times? I reminded you the first time you called looking for work again. You spontaneously called and said you were going to come pick them up—but apparently forgot, which makes me wonder how you get anything accomplished. You called again, and again I reminded you. Is this how you always do business, you only do work you're reminded of over and over and over again? I am not your mother. If you can't be a responsible adult, that's your problem, but I'm not paying you for it. Now don't come back here."
He apologized, but as he was walking away (and I was going back inside) I heard him mutter something. I was back outside like a shot. "What did you say?"
I scared the crap out of him. I don't know what he'd said, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the thank you he claimed he'd said.
I told Patrick about it later, adding that right after somebody dies is a really bad time to piss me off. I'm in a nihilistic mood and don't care what bridges I burn.
*Fritz Brenner