Snowblower

It snowed last night. Not enough to cancel school, so after I sent the (teenaged) kid off to school, I grabbed a shovel and started working on the driveway. Fred was also out working on his, but using the more modern convenience of a snowblower. The thing is huge, rides on four wheels and sounds like a bus. I'd be really envious except I knew he had spent the last two hours in his garage trying to get it started. I waved to him.

He politely turned his snowblower off. "Hi, Chris. That was some kind of storm last night. Isn't this great?"

"It's pretty nice. I needed the exercise this morning. Quite the machine you've got there."

"Yeah, it's a pretty fine machine. Works really fast, too. I'll have the rest of this driveway finished in a few minutes. I bet you wish you had one." I guess it never occurred to him that the two hours in his garage didn't count.

"It's not that hard. Besides, my kid usually does it."

Across the street, another snowblower started. Fred and I watched as Earle cut a swath from his garage to the street. Upon seeing us watching him, he shut his off and came over. "Hey, neighbors! A fine day for some exercise!"

"That's a nice machine." Fred said. "Where'd you get it?"

"Over at that discount home store off the highway. I picked it up a few years ago. It's been great. It starts up every time, and all I've ever had to do is put gas in it. Not quite as big as yours, though."

"Yeah, I know she's big, but she gets the job done faster."

"Kind of like the SUV of snowblowers," I added.

Earle did a movement that I could only best describe as a theatrical doubletake. I've spent a lot of time with Earle in the past, and have discovered that he often enjoys taking an alternative view on things. And that doubletake was his visual tic that revealed when this happens. "You know," he said, "it's almost as if the size of the snowblower can reveal certain aspects of people's personalities."

"How's that going to work?" I said, "I don't have a snowblower."

"That's my point," Earle continued. "You see, you're kind of a down-to-earth guy, so you don't have one. I have the nice, modern efficient machine because I'm an engineer. When did you get yours, Fred?"

"1980. Bought it at Sears." I was shocked he didn't buy it at Wal-Mart.

"See--it's older. And a bit larger. Not that I meant to imply you're fat, Fred. It's solid--it sits on a foundation of four stout tires. An awesome foundation."

I had to throw Earle a curveball. "I wonder how Freud would explain this?"

"Freud? Hmm, I'm thinking it would be something to do with envy."

"Envy? What do you mean by that?" A little bit of worry crept into Fred's voice. You're not trying to say we're trying to compensate for a lack of endowment?"

"Well, think about it," Earle said. "They are petty big, kind of like an extension of ourselves. And look what they do--they shoot out snow. And the bigger the blower the more you can shoot."

"I don't like that. I don't like that at all. I've got to finish this driveway." Fred pulled on the starter cord. The machine sputtered a few moments, but failed to start. Fred swore--but being the born-again Christian he is, swore by placing two unrelated nouns together. He tried several more times without success.

"Fred," Earle said, "I've got some Viagra inside. If you want, I can crush up one and put it in the gas tank."

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