Andee: 1 Snowblower: 0

[kjpepper]

Grrr. Sometimes power machinery is far more trouble than it's worth.

So by the time I get outside, the sleet has changed over to a cold, depressing rain, and as a result there's a crust of ice covering everything on top of the four or so inches of snow we actually got. Meh. So I get out there and I'm like, oh hell no I'm not shoveling this shit. I'm still all sore from Wednesday. So I march into the garage, haul out ye olde snowblowere, start it up with no problems, then press the doohickey that actually blows snow around. SHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK *die* *burn-y smell*

WTF?

Start up again. Same thing. this time I stop it before the shriek gets too loud. Kill the power, scratch my head. Check the gas. Nope, ok. a bit low, but there's enough. On a brainwave I walk around the front of the thing. Completely clogged. *sigh* Turn off the power, turn off the choke, tip the blower back, and spend about twenty minutes digging crystallized snow out with my fingers trying to figure out where the real problem is. Get all the way in, clear out the auger (sp?) and discover there's a six inch by three inch block of ice fused directly between the blades. Some of it chips off readily enough. the rest stubbornly hangs on.

By this time I'm a) cold b) wet c) pissed off d) all of the above. And after all that, giving up and actually shoveling the driveway isn't an option. So I scratch my head some, looking around the garage for inspiration... outlet on the wall - utility lamp on extension cord coming out of it... hey, there was this story timarok was telling me a few weeks back about his dad melting a tank of caramelized gas with one of those... grab the lamp, knocking over a box of beatgoddess's harm reduction fairy don't-fuck-crazy literature (*sigh* pick that up), turn it on, shove it on top of the ice block. In the meantime, I get another brainwave and while that's working, run into the house and emerge with beatgoddess's hair dryer. Well, it was a good idea, except for some reason the dryer wouldn't turn on in the garage. Even with a different extension cord. Give up on that idea. Check on the lamp, a little bit of progress, but not fast enough. Thoroughly annoyed, I stomp out of the garage and into the carport looking for something vaguely ice-pick like. Find instead the gas grill starter. Inspired, I bring that back, use it to heat up the end of a trowel in the garage, and jab at the ice block. It comes off in one solid piece.

I right the snowblower, put everything I yanked out away (mostly), start it back up. Try the blower again. No shrieky noise, just a beautiful arch of white sludge falling into nearby snowbank. YES! DO NOT FUCK WITH THE GODDESS THAT IS ANDEE, BEEEEEEEEEEEEEYOTCH! happily I blow snow up and down the driveway once, and then whilst unjamming it from the bank of sludge at the end of the driveway the fucking hunk of red metal DIES on me again. *gggrrraaaagherggggllrrrrchfuckfuckfuck* pop the gas tank open again. Empty.

I would have screamed in frustration, but I don't think the two neighbors that were outside shoveling with actual shovels would have sympathized much.

March back up driveway. Halfway up, slip, go ass over teakettle. By this time far too aggravated to wonder what I bruised this time. Stomp into garage. Find gas bottle. March back down to dead snowblower. Fill tank. Stomp back into garage, replace the can. Clomp back down the driveway. Snowblower starts up, angelically. If it could have it would have batted eyelashes at me and said something like "Me? A problem? Never..."

Finished rest of driveway without incident. Stomp back into house soaked to the skin, cold - and triumphant.

Comments

[sundart.livejournal.com]

ROTFLMAO! Honey, you are a saint of all saints. Thank you for the beautiful driveway clearage. *crowns you queen for the day and turns on the teakettle*

I warned you!

[birkwelch.livejournal.com]

I'm telling you, snowblowers are the tool of the devil. Along with cell phones. Only evil can come from them. EVIL! And from the pits of hell shall spew forth bits of wombat, and they shall spatter upon thy heathen lands, and a foul stench ariseth and choketh the souls of thy kin, and the little people shall taunt thee unmercifully, and thou shalt wither and diest for lack of a good comeback, and thy nostril hairs shall lengthen and curl into unflattering characatures of Neil Diamond, and shall resist all thine efforts at plucking, and thy cats shall use thine toilets in a matter most unnatural, and they very soul affixed as postage by mistake to a package which proceedeth to East Bumfuck, KY... yay, verily, when these things come among thee, thou knowest the end is near, and thy sins shall roost among thee and lay large eggs, the products of which shall stinketh like the asses of a thousand babboons, and the number of the beast shall be brandeth upon thee for all to see in large henna marks... oh, dost thou now understand the magnitude of they sins before the Almighty Bubba?

So don't do it, I tells ya!