I worked parking lot maintenance back in the day and the best part was working the weed-eater. The weed-eater was light and easy to handle. Loose yet firm grip, and a left to right motion with fluid rhythm, and I would get totally immersed in the weed-eating moment. Okay, it wasn’t exactly Zen-like, but it sure was a hell of a lot better than carrying around a 12 litre spray tank full of roundup. The roundup operation was weed genocide. The weeds sprayed with that hellish concoction liquid were gone forever. With the weed-eater I was just cutting the weeds down to size, they would rebound in a few weeks and I would be back to do it all over again.
City bylaws required a weed-eater worker to wear a hardhat and steel toed work boots, so me and my partner Larry felt like full fledged construction workers. But we weren’t stuck at the same site all day. We had 45 parking lots to maintain so we were moving around the city in our pick-up seventy percent of the time. Fifteen percent of the time was sitting in the pick-up parked in a lot. We had to survey the lot first. Decide which way to attack the outgrowth, do a run around the perimeter first, or zig zag up and down the parking aisles. We actually weed-ate ten to twelve percent of the time. The rest of the time was refilling the weed-eater with string. One of the best bloody jobs I ever had.