Hi there, remember me? Last year this time I showed you how much I would do for you, worked around the clock with that friggen' blizzard, and received verbal praise from you like I had never heard before.
As I melted off and returned to my corner of the garage for my much needed rest, I was gleaming with pride, and overwhelmed with a sense of self worth.
I knew it was only a matter of time that you would pick up the phone and schedule a tune up for me.
My belts were worn, my spark plug was foul as a drunken sailor on holiday, my scraper had been shaved down to the point my auger housing was getting molested by the pavement, and don't even get me started on my paddles.
They threw more snow in 5 minutes than that pretentious "ergonomically designed" shovel you bought from Target ever could.
So there I sat, waiting. And waiting. And finally, fall comes around. I was stoked my spa treatment was just around the corner. I've seen you leave in the morning and return with your Mario Tricoci bag knowing full well you were relaxing under hot stones, getting mani/pedi's, and deep tissue massage.
It was my turn.
But nothing.
Halloween came and went. I said to myself, "Maybe my operator is really busy, I'm sure by Thanksgiving I'll be picked up by that nice guy with the trailer."
But then Christmas came around, and some lady who smelled like wine came out and started throwing empty boxes and wrapping paper at me. Before I knew it I was covered in trash, in the dark, and all alone.
Then it happened. From a distance I heard the familiar rumble of the snow plow. All hope wasn't gone after all. Somebody is going to dust me off, pour this putrid stale gas out of my tank and fill me up with some fresh, high octane go-go juice. Any minute now, I'm gonna get my cord pulled!!
I sat there in anticipation the whole night and finally the next morning, you opened the door, walked out, grabbed that trollop shovel, and started dancing her around like she was Ginger Rogers, and you were Fred Astaire .
I felt like someone drained my oil. After all that I did for you, IN RECENT HISTORY I MIGHT ADD, you kicked me to the curb like some useless piece of garbage.
Not too much longer the same scenario played out.
Then another.
Then New Years came and went. It was then that I started to feel my fuel line start to dry out. Already stiff, it started to crack while swelling internally due to all the ethanol you poison me with. You've heard of ways around that, special gas you could buy for me at the small engine dealer, but no, "this will be good enough."
So here we are with Valentines Day fast approaching and we are short on time. Oh sure, you have called on me as late as April and even May, but we both know this season will be over soon. If I don't get a little attention, I don't know if I will be starting up for you ever again. The only thing around here more neglected than me is that stupid bike, hanging upside down from the ceiling with the flat tires and rusty chain.
Oh yeah, and don't cry poor to me, or say it's because of the economy being bad. That's bullshit and you know it. When that blizzard buried you, you would have paid any amount to fix me if I hadn't went to bat, so save that story for someone else. And ever since my corner of the garage became the garbage overflow area, there has been quite a few Rosati's boxes thrown my way, and I know that place ain't cheap. So if you can throw $35 a week at the pizza guy, you should have no problem throwing the small engine guy $90 one time a year.
I didn't mean to make this all about me. I realize I am nothing without you. I just wanted to let you know, in a last stitched effort, my carburetor has begun to leak internally, flooding my intake manifold with stale fuel, and dripping on your concrete floor so your sense of smell will remind you of me, and the good times we once had.
I'd also like to warn you, when you leave the door open sometimes, I receive quite a few looks from that guy with the piece of shit truck that trolls the neighborhood looking for scrap. I sometimes wonder if that's what I am to you, scrap.
So there you go, I've finally got this off my block, if you want to work together in the future, remember this is a two way street. You help me, I help you. It's that simple.
Sincerely,
Your snowblower
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