Many years ago there was a
television show, Home Improvement, which starred Tim Allen as a fellow who
regularly modified tools and home appliances for the sake of both inventing
genius and amusement.
This weekly show had Tim “The
Toolman” Taylor
While this was fun and
light-hearted, I took notes from him throughout the duration of the program and
just realized how valuable they have become.
If you are an employee of OSHA –
the Occupational Safety Health Administration – I suggest you quit reading here
and find the Sudoku in the newspaper and tackle that, for your own good.
OSHA has been making tools and
machinery safe for consumer and commercial use for decades, and had done a
yeoman’s job. Perhaps too good, though.
About 20-years ago I bought a
self-propelled mower to replace a hand-me-down that was 18-years of age.
This new mower came fully
equipped with individual wheel adjustments, a bagging attachment, and a dead
man’s switch.
For the lawn mowing novice, a
dead man’s switch is a device that must be constantly depressed lest the mower
conk out. It is so-named because a
similar device is used on trains to ensure stoppage of a train should the
engineer pass away while at the controls.
This thoughtful device is pure
brilliance until you are mowing a lawn, that is. Seasoned between the tall grass blades are
hidden gum wrappers, sticks, kid’s toys, and dog poop that was all previously
undiscovered.
That shouldn’t be a surprise as I
have no kids, don’t chew gum, and have never owned a dog. Sticks, I have aplenty, though.
So it is when I reach these
obstacles I need to walk away from the mower pushing and begin the bending and
picking up activities. Unfortunately,
this is where the aforementioned dead man’s switch becomes more of a nuisance
than a safety device.
As soon as I let go of it, the
mower stops. Dead. DEAD.
Now I have to restart the engine
which, at this time, is warm and difficult to get running again.
A sleepless night and some Wild
Turkey on-the-rocks gave me the answer I was seeking. A few hours in the workshop enable to
circumvent the dead man’s switch which meant I was now in control of my life,
again.
Picking up debris from the grass,
moving lawn furniture, and relocating potted plants, had now become the easiest
my little corner of the world had witnessed in some time.
That is until last week when I
needed to buy a new gas can.
It seems as though OSHA employees
have raucous Christmas parties and desperately search for material to make the
other office help laugh and laugh and laugh until next Christmas.
This past year they insisted all
gas can sales include a pouring spout designed by someone with quite a sense of
humor and lack of intelligence genes.
I filled the five-gallon plastic
red can up and recapped it for the ride home. Upon arrival, I tried to pour my recent
purchase of 87-octane fuel into my Ferris mower. And I tried.
And tried. To no avail.
 |
| Worthy of the death penalty. Really, as it nearly killed me. |
I eventually removed the pouring
spout which wouldn't pour and therefore wasn’t much of a spout. But I digress.
Embossed in the black plastic of
the spout were words that made no sense.
It instructed me to “press here” to pour, and “press here” to
store. Neither instruction worked. Nothing came out of the can.
It was at this time I wondered
what The Toolman would do. While the
pouring spout was off the gas can, I modified it with a five-pound sledge
hammer/customizer, transforming it into even more useless junk than when I
bought it.
I got out my funnel and poured
the fuel directly through it – unsafely – into the mower.
Good work OSHA!
