Control

“Don’t do it!”

I often hear this warning inside my head whenever I feel like taking a gamble on something that could cause bodily harm to my person. It’s like a nagging feeling.

Yesterday, I heard it once more when I decided to ask the chainsaw operator if I could give the powerful ‘gadget’ a try. It looked so easy to handle and operate. (A heavy bundle it is with rotating sharp teeth.)

He felled both trees with little damage to the surrounding plants.(The trees’ diagonal growth was perilously dangerous to everyone. In time, they will fall without warning.)

The old guy was game. He needed a relief while he decided to eat his snack. He allowed me to have a go.

Turning the machine on was no problem, just like a souped up grass cutter, albeit heavier. The jarring vibration on my arms felt like a harmless touch on a live wire. ๐Ÿ™‚

The operator eyed me with curiosity as I cut only the unusable branches, which were destined to be charcoal at a later date. He was ready to assist in case anything went wrong, or so I believed.

Indeed, a few minutes later. Something went wrong. I accidentally pressed the accelerator a bit harder that the ‘beast’ tried to free itself from my control. I was afraid that I could become a chainsaw massacre victim of my doing.

The old guy stayed where he sat, unfeeling of what was happening to me.

Then, the chainsaw stopped: I stood like a statue. Perspiration oozed out from every pore of my body. The scare was awfully traumatizing.

I placed the machine on the ground. I headed straight to the old guy and confronted him for his indifference.

“Didn’t you see me?” I asked in a low voice. I vowed to control my anger but the situation called for an exception.

“I am not worried,” he replied, smiling. Or was that a short chuckle?

“Why?” I was weakened by the experience so I needed a satisfactory reply.

“I checked the tank before I let you ‘borrow’ my gear,” he explained slowly, “and I made sure you won’t hurt yourself with a longer use of a dangerous machine.”

“Didn’t you trust me in the first place?”

“I did. But you’re not a pro. I distrust the machine in the wrong hands.”

Yup! I admitted to myself. I had the wrong hands this time.

BLOGGINGย  ย LIFE/STYLESย  ย MY STORIESย  ย WHISPERย  ย ZONE

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14 thoughts on “Control

  1. LOL…..my father taught me how to use one of these beasts when I was 10….scary. But this post sort of reminds me of a joke here in the South – What’s usually a Southerner’s last words? Watch this. Y’all aint gonna believe this…..

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