Angry lawnmower guy and his shouty tactics
I'd just left schooland had recently attended a work-placement thing and was told i could apply for a number jobs in a few sectors and would gain 'valuable work experience'.

So, from the choices there (building, painting, roofing, admin etc) - the ONLY two that appealed to me was gardening and the vaguely titled 'computers', but i didn't want to be stuck in an office all summer, so i chose gardening, under the illusion that i'd be more or less chilling out in the sun , sipping lemonade, listening to the radio and putting plants in soil. Perfect.

Whereas the reality consisted of being under the dominance of an inexplicably angry man, being crambed in the back of a white van amongst lots of sharp and archaic gardening tools (namely huge and heavy lawn mowers) and his silent apprentice, whilst being driven to extremely rough areas of England and being forced to trundle across miles and miles of grass.

His silent apprentice was a brick shit house of a lad, but had the mental and social attitudes of an oyster. He never uttered two words to me in whole duration of my 'employment' but did seem to enjoy mindlessly walking across fucking miles of grass with his lawnmower.

Anyhoo, getting back to the point - Angry lawnmower man would freak out at the slightest little thing. If somebody driving too close to his van, he'd punch the dashboard and shout the word 'cunt' at them and lean on the drivers window and wave his fists, all the while turning an alarming shade of red! If he cut his finger on a tool, he'd kick the van and dint it. He was a right nutter.

As for the job description - well, as i mentioned we visited the scummiest places on the planet. One memorable place was a patch of wasteland that had previously been occupied by pikey travellers, and for some reason (fuck knows why), we had to mow this patch of grass but avoid any of the discarded crap. Other times it was council estates, mowing courtyards and avoiding the stares of the chav population. Or the half-way house garden, in which i daren't peep at the leering faces pressed against the glass windows of the clinical looking house. The silent mongy apprentice didn't seem phazed at all though...

It was a fucking nightmare.

The first time i realised i despised the job, was when Angry lawn mower man went positively bat shit insane because i'd foolishly trundled my lawnmower over a half buried rock. 'You stupid little bastard, why didn't you move the fucking brick!'

I didn't have the gall to explain that i had absolutely no idea a rock was hidden in the grass, but he made me go and look ahead anyway. There's only one thing worse that walking across shitty fucking grass with a lawnmower and not getting paid. And that is walking across shitty grass looking for bricks and not getting paid.

At the time though, i was young and stupid and just took it on the chin. But he crossed a line.

Two weeks, of impromptu screaming abuse, eventually faded slightly as he would often drop me off somewhere (usually alone may i add) with a lawnmower and he would go and do another job somewhere. The time that really struck me as a shit day was when he dropped me off in nutsford service station and told me to mow three patches of grass and he'd be back 'within the hour'.

The thing was... The second he drove off, a few things happened at once. I realised i had left my coat (and wallet)in the van and it started raining heavily. The second thing that happened was the starter cord on the ancient lawn mower snapped and i had absolutely no way of getting the lawn mower working....

So here i was... At the side of a motorway, with a useless lawn mower, in the pissing down rain with no coat and no money to buy any food. Expecting the wrath of angry lawn mower man within the hour.

He turned up THREE hours later, to find me looking dishevelled and wet and useless on the over grown grass.

Even when i tried to explain that it wasn't my fault, he raged and spat and roared at me. Worst day of my life.

The next morning he picked me up for 'work' but i sternly refused, i couldn't be arsed any more, it was my first manly moment. Telling my boss 'No!' and hearing him shouting and ranting at me as he drove off, never to be seen again - was quite liberating.

-

Morals:

*Despite what you may hear, gardening is shit, dangerous, stressful, tiring and frightening.

* Slave labour is still legal under 'work experience'

* Check your equipment. Nutsford services is not a fun place.

/Length? - fucking miles with vibrating, arthritis causing machines and being shouted at every step of the way :(
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 11:08, 4 replies)

Is that anywhere near Knutsford services?
Just wondered.
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Fri 11 Jun 2010, 14:09, closed)

That's the one
I hate it so much, i miss out the 'K'
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 14:58, closed)

This:
* Check your equipment. Nutsford services is not a fun place.

Sounds like a slogan for self checking for testical cancer.
(Psymon_Spark Jesus Saves! The rest of you take 4d6 damage, Fri 11 Jun 2010, 15:08, closed)

I used to be in your position
But what really got on my tits was having to do dog shit infested lawns, especially hitting it with a strimmer and getting a lovely tattoo up the side of the face. Instant chuck.
(Daisho Arseholes everywhere I turn., Fri 11 Jun 2010, 16:13, closed)