Let it snow, let it snow

Have you noticed? It snowed . . . lots!
Space around the debating table at the Bakery in Rainy River was at a premium. The last ones in were the various snow removal enthusiasts.
Spiker had taken a day off from his semi-permanent task of busing school kids to ensure his long list of clients no longer were snowbound.
He was busy answering cellphone calls from clients he had missed—or ones who had their garden gnomes and garbage cans mangled.
“Serves you right for not getting your chores done in a timely fashion,” he snarled as he broke the connection and lifted the cup for his first desperately-required shot of caffeine.
The Marquis de Sade was the last one to stumble in. Pulling off his gloves, he revealed his usual quota of three blackened nails and a couple of bandages—on each hand.
“Spent three hours trying to get that snowblower un-jammed yesterday,” the Marquis complained as he delicately tried to pick up his cup with his bruised and mangled digits.
“Ripped off all the guards, and checked the belts and the gear box, before I realized it was a little stone jammed between the auger and the frame.
“A hammer and a crowbar soon righted the problem,” he added, sucking on his obviously sore left thumb.
“Not a big problem, then. Gotta watch for those stones the first time in the fall,” remarked Spiker, wise in the ways of all things snow removal related.
“Got everything blown out then?” he asked.
“No!” fumed the Marquis. “When I fired her up again, the first pass found a bunch more stones and took out the windshield in the truck and the side door window in the garage.
“Then it jammed up again when it sucked in that hammer I forgot to put away.
“Still haven’t got that jam rectified,” lamented the Marquis as he examined the state of his other thumb.
“How on earth did you get out of your place then,” I wondered, having given up trying to get out of my own drive.
“Municipal plow came by and I managed to buck my way through the bank at the road,” replied the Marquis.
“At least my tetanus shot is up to date.
“Gotta go get that window re-glazed and the new windshield installed,” added the sore but wiser Marquis as he arose from the table, paid his bill, and headed for the door.
“Spiker, how about you plow out my yard?” he yelled back.
Spiker made a note in his diary and then flipped open his cellphone chiming to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”
“Hello. . . . Plow your yard? But I thought you had a brand new snow blower. . . .
“Ate the garden hose, an extension cord, and a shovel. . . .
“Then stepped on a garden rake, puncturing your foot. . . . Then a black eye when you stepped on a hoe. . . .
“Okay, I’ll be right over,” continued Spiker. “Any garden gnomes or other stuff I should watch for. . . .
“No, just push everything up in a pile and you’ll dig it out in the spring when it melts. . . .
“Sounds like a plan. Bye.”

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