As a couple, my parents had an ironclad rule against hiring household help. “A maid?” said my mom contemptuously in reference to our wealthy neighbor, Mrs. Hall. “What else does she have to do all day?” My father nodded. “Mr. Hall actually hired someone to change a sprinkler head,” he said incredulously, and they both shook their heads in disbelief.
The only exception to this rule was that my parents always had a lawn service. “John has a bad back and I don’t have time,” my mother would say defensively when asked. “And Guy and his brother would cut their feet off if they tried to do it.” This was all very true, so the entire time I was growing up our lawn was maintained by Mr. McDaniel a gentle giant who cut and trimmed and edged and raked with a silent efficiency that we all took for granted.
Years later when I bought my own house it never occurred to me to cut my own lawn, but I have never had the luxury of finding anyone who could compare to the efficiency of Mr. McDaniel. This is especially odd since my lawn and I are both very low-maintenance: all I want is to find a trustworthy little company that will come by every other week, cut the lawn, edge the driveway, clean up and go home.
For several years I had a lawn service that showed up on a regular basis but earlier this summer they simply stopped coming. I never saw them or heard from them again, their phone number was disconnected and they never sent me my final bill. God only knows where they went.
Now with the summer rains coming on a daily basis I was forced to find a new lawn service fast. The first service specialized in “total landscape maintenance.” This worried me because I don’t have a landscape, I have a lawn. The owner said they would edge and trim and spray for weeds and keep the sprinkler system working and he presented me an estimate on fine vellum stock. “Think of the free time you’ll have,” he said as I glanced, apoplectic at his quote; he never realized that hiring him would leave me less free time since I would have to take a part time job.
I hired the next service on the spot because they said they’d cut the lawn and whack the weeds, and I liked their price, but on their first visit, which was also their last, they managed to whack weeds, lawn, bushes and palm trees with the skill and efficiency of a Category 3 hurricane.
The next company swore to leave my trees and bushes alone, but they had an odd affection for “Round-up,” to which I am strongly opposed, and which they used promiscuously on the front porch and the driveway and around trees and bushes, killing weeds, lawn, groundcover and the assorted ornamental in the process.
The next company cut the lawn, but not evenly, edged the driveway, but not well, and forgot to clean up afterwards. By this time, however, I was determined to make the relationship work, so when the owner came by to follow up on his crew and asked if I was pleased I told him I was not, and pointed out why. “Ohboyohboyohboy,” he said and excused himself to go to his truck. He came back and presented me with a document labeled “Final Bill.”
“Final bill?” I said stupidly.
He shook his head. “We’re done,” he told me flatly. “I know you’re type: you’re going to be impossible to please.”