The Amazing Flying Corn Snake

The neighborhood I live in now is in what I call a "Ghetto Buffer Zone," meaning that it's just south of the ghetto and just north of the nice, middle-class houses. This area that I live in often gives me interesting stories to tell, like the one about the guy who built his own car and then raced it down the sidewalks against a neighborhood kid on a bike (the kid won). Gather 'round the campfire, kids, and I shall tell you the story of Eddie, The Neighborhood Crazy Man Who Cuts My Grass.

One Saturday afternoon, I was in the driveway working on my truck (because there's always something going wrong with it), and I looked up to see a 40-ish, thin, black man walking a lawn mower down the middle of the street. We do have sidewalks in the neighborhood, but for some reason, he'd elected not to use them. As I looked up, he caught my eye.

"Hey! You need your lawn mowed, man?"

I'd just mowed the front lawn a week or so before, and the back lawn I could really give a damn about.

"No, that's all right."

"C'mon, man, I ain't got no job! I'm just out here tryin' to work!"

I could respect that, and it wasn't like he was a bum asking for a dollar. I checked my wallet -- three bucks. Oh, well, I thought. At least the sad amount of money I had on me would discourage him from asking more questions.

"I got three bucks on me."

"I'll do the front for that."

I was a little shocked, and almost felt bad for taking advantage of the poor guy. But, hell, he was going to do the front yard for pocket change.

"That's a deal."

I gave him the three wrinkled singles, and he set to work trimming down the front lawn. He was fast, and he did quite a good job. About ten minutes later, he walked up to my car.

"I can come back and do the back yard for you tomorrow for, like, 15 dollars. I can keep that muffucka (note: this is exactly how he said it) DOWN."

Well, I thought, the back yard does kind of look like the jungles of Vietnam right now.

"All right, man. Just give me a call when you're on your way over tomorrow morning."

We exchanged numbers, and Eddie happily started walking his mower right on down the street the way he had come.

That Saturday night, my friend Aaron celebrated his 26th birthday, and I got more than a little drunk at his party -- so much so, in fact, that I woke up on the couch with my shirts crumpled beneath my head for a pillow at 9:30 the next morning. My fiancee (now wife) was still passed out in bed.

I checked my cell phone and saw that Eddie had called a few minutes before I'd rejoined the living. Figuring

he'd still be about an hour off (as he seems to have no mode of transportation other than pushing a lawn mower down the middle of city streets), I decided to get undressed and head for a short nap in a real bed.

As soon as I got to a state where it would be. . . improper. . . to answer the door, the doorbell rang. I yelled "Be right there!" and struggled back into my clothes.

I walked out to the driveway to find Eddie circling around on a silver 10-speed.

"Morning, Eddie."

"Hey, man. I just called you."

"Yeah, I just got it."

"I'm gon' cut that muffucka down today."

"Eh, cool."

Eddie looked around for a second. So did I.

"Oh, shit. I gotta go get the lawn mower."

"Yeah, that's OK, I'll be here."

Eddie pedalled off on the sidewalk (in Omaha, you're supposed to use the streets when on a bicycle), and I went back inside to have a cigarette and a whole lot of water.

About a half an hour later, I heard the sounds of mowing far off in the distance. I was outside smoking anyway, and I looked down the street to see Eddie, lawn mower running, walking as casually as you please down the middle of the street.

"I got the lawn mower!" he shouted over the engine.

"Uh. . . you sure did."

Without another word, Eddie pulled his "mowing beer," a 22-ounce Natural Ice tallboy, out of his pocket and headed for the back yard. I finished up my cigarette and was about to go inside when he came back around to the front of the house, lawn mower still running in front of him.

"Hey, man. You think you could go put like a buck in the gas can? I ain't got no car, and I forgot to fill that muffucka earlier."

"Yeah, no problem." I mean, he was cutting me such a deal on the lawn, it really wasn't a problem. I put some shoes on, hopped in the car, and went to the gas station down the street. It was only a one-gallon can, so I just went ahead and filled it (at $2.009 a gallon).

When I came back, I set the gas can on the front steps and walked around to the back to let Eddie know I had gotten the gas for him. Over the loud roar of the mower, I heard some incomprehensible yelling peppered with the occasional "muffucka!," "god-damn!," and "shit!" As I rounded the house, I saw what all the commotion was about.

Eddie, controlling the still-running mower with his left hand, had a large snake in his right hand and was swinging it around his head, freaking out and swearing. The snake's head knocked into Eddie's "mowing beer" and knocked it right off the back deck.

"Jesus, Eddie, just put the snake down!" I yelled, trying not to break out laughing.

Eddie looked up and noticed me for the first time. He kept swinging the snake, but stopped swearing and just looked at me for a moment.

"Naw, that's aight, man, I got it!" he yelled suddenly, a huge grin breaking out on his face. A few more swings 'round his head for good measure, and Eddie tossed the snake over the fence into my neighbor's yard.

Eddie then noticed the demise of his mowing beer. I went into the house and got him a bottle of Paulaner from the fridge, and he perked right back up and went back to the lawn. Again, he was quick, and did a really decent job.

As he sipped his mowing beer in the front yard, I went ahead and paid him $30 (I mean, the back yard was in horrible shape), and he agreed to come back next week and "keep the muffucka down" for $10. I shook his hand, and he happily chugged on down the road, running lawn mower and gas can in one hand, new German mowing beer in the other.

Kids, I want to be Eddie, The Crazy Neighborhood Man Who Cuts My Grass, when I grow up.