When we moved into our house over five years ago, one of the things we loved about it was the fact that it was in an established neighborhood. Though our home was built before amenities like second bathrooms or large master bedrooms, it is solid, well built, and nestled among mature trees on a sweet little street.
We bought our house in late October, and most of the trees on our street had lost their leaves.
It didn’t take us long that next spring to realize that the humongous tree in our front tree was, as they say in The Princess Bride, “only mostly dead.”
We’ve gone along for the last five years mainly relying on prayer to keep that tree from crashing on top of Creepy Neighbor’s car, which is perpetually parked there even though he has a garage and a driveway.
Every time a tree guy happens to drive down our street, they surreptitously tuck a card or brochure into our screen door.
It was really, really bad. Se we knew we needed to take care of it before this year ended and the ice storms of winter began.
On Monday, I came home to find our street full of large trucks– a tree company doing some work at our neighbor’s. I moseyed down the street to inquire as to an estimate to have the tree removed and the stump ground down. The dude didn’t even get out of his truck, but told me it would be $800.
Since our next door neighbor had a friend who said he’d do it for $350, I thanked the genteleman and started home.
Not five minutes later, he was waddling up the street to tell me he’s talked to his boss and they’d do it for $300, since they were already on our street.
Waddled. Waddled is a kind word. Because this dude was one holiday season of cookies away from being unable to walk. His stomach did not protrude; it swung pendulously, rebelliously out of the bottom of his shirt. I’m not making fun of his girth, please don’t misunderstand– I just want to give you the picture. He was hands down the largest person I’ve ever seen who could perambulate on his own.
Anywho. $300 it was. I quickly called Hubs and he agreed. They set to work. They almost crashed the tree on Creepy Neighbor’s car, because when I asked Creepy Neighbor’s wife to move it, she told me she “wasn’t allowed to have the keys” to it. There was a team of maybe eight guys, and they made swift work of that tree.
Soon, all that was left of the tree I laid beneath on a blanket with my babies was a pile of mulch. The leaves we played in every fall are gone.
I wrote out the check for a little more than we agreed, because I wanted to tip these men who were obviously not paid very well, and it was near the holidays. (Remember this, this is douche move number one.)
While they finished up, they asked my next door neighbor if he needed any tree work done. My neighbor has been battling terminal cancer for the last few months, and he asked them to cut his mostly-dead tree down, too– he didn’t want his wife to have to rake after he passed. I thought about heading over there, but got distracted and never made it (douche move number two.)
The men finished up, and by the time Noise was home from school, our side of the street was markedly more naked, and our wallets a lot lighter. As we walked down the street from picking up Noise, the man I had spoken with got out of his truck and asked me if I needed to transfer some funds– apparently I had written a hot check. A hot check I added a tip to because I was so smug and self-righteous about getting a deal. A hot check to the largest man ever. Who was clearly agitated, since he had talked his boss into doing the work in the first place. Since we hadn’t planned on spending that money after the Black Friday spending spree we went on, we were apparently short. We did transfer funds, but they wouldn’t be there for two days. I flashed Large Man my cleavage and tittered nervously, “well, you know we’re good for it! You know where we live– you can come dump a big tree back in our yard if you don’t have your money by Wednesday!”
Then I ran inside and double locked the door. What a jerk. (Me, not him.)
Later, I found out that they charged our neighbor $800 for the exact same service. And since I didn’t go over there to talk to my neighbor, they ripped a dying man off for $500. Argh.
You know, in my mind, this was a funnier story than it came out. I guess it was just sad all around.
May I introduce you to the Barbie Shower and Show Horse. Now featuring forty million tiny parts for one’s baby brother to choke on, and a fuckuvalotta pink.
