You’ll recall that in addition to paying the Mexican government $15 million in 1848 dollars, the U.S. conceded the use of leaf blowers within the continental United States and its territories.
That’s right, leaf blowers.
See, even though leaf blowers would not be invented until the next century, those wily Mexicans consulted their Azteck and Mayan calendars, which are also dandy little oracles, and forecast a time when Mexico could get even for the headaches caused by Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie and the rest of that Alamo riffraff in 1836.
Oh sure, the Mexicans won that one, but latter day hotheads in the Mexican government were still pissed about the Great Yanqui Land Grab of 1848. While they were pleased about giving the bowel splitting symptoms of Montezuma’s Revenge to Yanqui invaders, something more was needed to take the fight to the enemy camp, the U.S. itself.
Hence, leaf blowers. It took awhile, but eventually, in 150 years, California was swarmed with legions of lawn care workers armed with howling leaf blowers causing sleep deprived mayhem from the Oregon border to San Ysidro. Traffic accidents caused by drowsy drivers doubled overnight. Domestic tranquility among formerly happy couples degenerated into sleepless and sometimes fatal squabbles over such trifles as custody of the TV remote. A whole social fabric was being torn asunder by the barking blasts of backpacked engines.
Things came to a head in 1973 when the U.S. was leaf blown to the negotiating table. No less than Henry Kissinger himself worked out the Tijuana Accords that year, but the Mexicans hung tough with Article IX, Section VII, Paragraph 3, subparagrph ( c ) which states that "Expatriate Mexican lawn care workers employed by Yanqui Gringos may use gasoline powered leaf blowers when tending the lawns, gardens and yards of said Yanqui Gringos between the hours of 7:00 and 7:30 a.m. forever world without end amen. Viva Mejico."
So that’s why four presumably documented Mexican workers, who are probably working for minimum wage or less, and without ear and eye protection, make Monday mornings around here worse than Monday mornings usually are by leaf blowing their way into every brain pan within earshot.
I could buy an AK-47 and end this leaf blowing nonsense myself, but that has more consequences than I am willing to bear. Folsom Prison is not far away. Neither is San Quentin. Besides, the sight of blood makes me sick.
So, I just try to remember that the Treaty Of Guadalupe Hidalgo was very one sided, that the leaf blowers only blow leaves around here less than an hour each week, and that I can buy a set of earplugs for sixty five cents.
Besides, if you can’t beat ‘em, hire ‘em. Maybe I can pay the leaf blowing crew to blast the crows that crap on my car from the tree over my parking spot.
I know that "into each life some rain must fall," but this?
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Comments?
This reminds me of the morning I had a migraine and the workers at the childcare center next door would not stop using the damned things when asked. I still cringe when I hear them. -- Shannon
Contrary to your eloquent and well-thought-out analysis of the leaf blowing disturbance, I am just going to say this:
Why in the hell do my thoughtless, uncaring, brainless neighbors, in this otherwise well-kept, neat, quiet complex that I live in, have to turn on their water every freakin' night right at the precise moment that I shut my eyes to finally go to sleep? Do they save up their body washing, desperately-needing underpants laundry jobs, dishwasher duties, extended hand-washing and quenching of thirsts for that exact moment for some reason I have failed to research and therefore comprehend? How do they know?
Is this travesty related to some historical issue I have yet to discover in my neck vein popping fits, and you are the only one studious enough to figure this stuff out? Please, tell me it has to do with some drought that happened in dinosaur times that somehow wormed its way into the long lost ancestors of these freakishly ignorant people I live next to. Please tell me that so I can blame it on something that makes sense. Tell me I will one day sleep again. -- Zoey
We're both doomed. MB
Don't get me started on snowblowers, something you are blessed not to have to deal with. Wonderful reading as always. -- Julisari
This reminds me of the morning I had a migraine and the workers at the childcare center next door would not stop using the damned things when asked. I still cringe when I hear them. -- Shannon
Contrary to your eloquent and well-thought-out analysis of the leaf blowing disturbance, I am just going to say this:
Why in the hell do my thoughtless, uncaring, brainless neighbors, in this otherwise well-kept, neat, quiet complex that I live in, have to turn on their water every freakin' night right at the precise moment that I shut my eyes to finally go to sleep? Do they save up their body washing, desperately-needing underpants laundry jobs, dishwasher duties, extended hand-washing and quenching of thirsts for that exact moment for some reason I have failed to research and therefore comprehend? How do they know?
Is this travesty related to some historical issue I have yet to discover in my neck vein popping fits, and you are the only one studious enough to figure this stuff out? Please, tell me it has to do with some drought that happened in dinosaur times that somehow wormed its way into the long lost ancestors of these freakishly ignorant people I live next to. Please tell me that so I can blame it on something that makes sense. Tell me I will one day sleep again. -- Zoey
We're both doomed. MB
Don't get me started on snowblowers, something you are blessed not to have to deal with. Wonderful reading as always. -- Julisari
I enjoyed reading this column. -- Ken
At our complex, yard workers are allowed to start at 7:30 AM. They are even allowed to try and blow wet leaves after a heavy rain. I mean really! I empathize. -- Beaty
What a coinkydink. I was just lookin for a Guadalupe medal -- Uma
Uma provided a balanced perspective well worth reading:
http://www.beinglatino.us/uncategorized/invisible-men/
That was hysterical and yet so very poignant. Excellent. -- Mary Pat
