When I was in Jr High, I cut grass for people. I for the
most part used our family mower and that involved pushing the mower a couple
blocks to the customers’ houses. I’d go to their houses and return home with
the mower after 90 minutes or so. I did this four or five times a week. There was a gas station on the corner at the end of the street. One day, as I was pushing the mower down the sidewalk, this woman yelled out to me from her porch: “Why don’t you
buy a gas can so you don’t have to take your mower to the gas station every
day?” Well, even in Jr High, I realized this woman probably had issues, so to
speak. Did she:
- Really think my parents didn’t have a gas can?
- Think I was cutting my parents’ grass four or five times a week?
- Drink? (People drank a lot back then.)
I’m sure I responded politely. Looking back, I probably
should have said something like: “Yeah. Can I pick you up some malt liquor on
my way back from the filling station?” Hindsight’s 20/20.