We had our first sizeable snow of the year on the Friday after Thanksgiving. It was lovely, since I didn’t have to work that day. Instead of getting up early and spending 40 minutes digging out my driveway at 6:00 a.m., swearing the whole time at those fucking shitheel Boy Toys next door for leaving their fucking shitheel BMW and Lexus parked in front of my house AGAIN… Instead of that, I was able to sit in a comfy chair under a down throw, knitting mittens, serenely sipping tea and watching the snow fall.
Well, okay, there was a tiny bit of swearing about the Boy Toys. But this time I had a plan for exacting my revenge, because I NOW HAVE A SNOW BLOWER—my very first snow blower ever—thanks to my elderly former next-door neighbor who kindly sold me his for a very reasonable price before he moved into a retirement community last summer. Not only would I be able to clear the driveway and sidewalks like magic, but how sweet would it be to aim the blower directly at their fucking shitheel BMW and Lexus? Very sweet, my friends. Very, very sweet.
I am woman. Hear my snow blower roar.
So late in the afternoon on Friday I went outside and got the snow blower started, no problem. That part I had practiced long before there was actual snow. For a minute it worked just like it was supposed to, but then it sort of clogged up, and instead of flying in a brilliant white arc out the top, the snow sort of gagged and dribbled out. I turned the blower off, cleaned it out, started it again and played with the gears, trying to get it to work right, but without much success. While I was doing this, the neighbor man from two doors down came walking over.
“I think you’ve got your choke on,” he said. “It should really be humming.” He adjusted a knob. Problem solved.
Now, given that this was my first experience with running a snow blower, there is no reason I should automatically know how to work it. Especially since I bought the thing used, and it didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual, so it’s perfectly reasonable that my kind neighbor would have to come over and show me how to adjust the choke.
But damn I hate having to have a guy come over and save my sorry female ass.
And what in the hell is a “choke” for, anyway?