Proper Mow-tivation

Due to circumstances well within my control, I have yet to find a full-time job. The monotony of doing random chores at home while procrastinating my job search certainly had its moments; however, I soon came to realize that I'd have to bite the bullet and find some sort of temporary employment in order to get some money. Not working has a way of making one's checking account rather barren. My dad had been giving me some odd jobs here and there, but my skills aren't particularly diverse in the contracting field. So I have made a graceful (or perhaps "grass-ful" if you'll accept a pun that's even worse than the title) return to the job that I did during the summers in college: mowing my neighbor's lawn.

Mowing a single lawn doesn't seem like it would warrant a full time job, but you haven't seen this place. This mammoth house sits on a hilltop that overlooks most of Kittanning, and my employers own this entire hill. We're talking about a huge plot of land here. Furthermore, these two have a considerable amount of money, and they've spent a nice portion of it landscaping their property. There is a lot of stuff to maintain, and I'm their go-to guy. I didn't work for them last summer because I was taking classes, but for the three summers prior to that, you could find me on a tractor or behind a weedeater making short work of undesirable herbage.

I swore I'd never work for them again. Mowing an entire hill isn't exactly easy, and I'm usually content with my slothfully sedentary lifestyle. Also, Mr. Employer would often ride my ass about every little detail of the job. "Oh JP, those cannas look like they were planted a little off-center. It would be lovely if they could all be lined up." "Oh JP, I'd really appreciate if that mammoth stack of wood that you just piled up could be seven boards across instead of eight." And he'd always use this damned soothing voice, too, so you'd feel like a dick arguing with him. I later discovered that he did this intentionally because that's exactly the effect he wanted. I imagine he was quite the shrewd businessman back in the day.

But I had to admit, Mr. and Mrs. Employer had always been really nice to me, their pay was fair (*cough* untaxed *cough*), and the hours were always flexible. So I figured working for them for a little while to earn some extra cash couldn't hurt. It's actually quite nice now. When I stopped working for them two years ago, they replaced me with my younger brother and some high school kid. My brother did a good job, but this other kid became a huge pain in the ass and fucked up everything on a daily basis. He reportedly broke every piece of equipment at least once and would regularly ignore directions. This, incidentally, made me look awesome by comparison. When my brother left for college last week, they were more than happy to have me back. And since I now seem to have expert-status, Mr. Employer simply leaves me to my work. It's still hotter than hell riding on that tractor in the middle of the day, but my pasty skin could use the sun... or at the very least, the radiation therapy for my skin cancer could cause me to lose weight in the most excruciating manner imaginable.

I'm working slightly above part-time because I still want to devote enough time to my job applications (in theory, anyway), but it's nice to have some legitimate currency coming my way without it being a handout from the government or from a mysterious mustachioed man in a top hat who kept calling it a "bank error in my favor."

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The Undesirable Element would like to welcome its new readers from the Wilkes-Barre retirement home for the terminally ill. Loyal fans like you are a dying breed.