weed whacking

About ten years ago, wait...no, about fourteen years ago, wait, crap, probably over fifteen years ago I worked for a landscaping company called Outdoor Improvements, in Bloomington, Indiana.  I'd ride to the garage in the morning and weed whack all day.  Matt Stuebe, the owner, sharpened the big mower blades before the mowing crew, me and Bob, would hitch up the trailer, load the mowers, strap the weed whackers to the side of the trailer, and head out to mow apartment complexes.  One time the big mulch pile beside the garage started smoking from the intense heat in its core.  Another time, on my ride home from work, I got T-boned by a Mazda, and left for dead in the middle of rush-hour, Roger's road traffic.  Mostly though, I just weed whacked the day away.  My shins took a beating from all the little stones that would shoot at them.  My snot would be black by the end of the day.  In any case, there is still a soft-spot in my heart for the noise of a nearby weed whacker.  Enjoy the vid.