I know the sound safety-glass makes as it shatters. I heard it when my rear window was broken a few months ago and I heard it today—PUNPK. The problem was: today, I was doing the breaking… and it wasn’t my car.
They parked right beside me—right fucking beside me! I can’t speak for everyone, but if I pull into a parking lot and see a guy trimming grass on an island, I’m parking somewhere far away from him. But no, not this guy. Yep, he parked right next to the island I was trimming—string trimmer screaming full throttle, grass clippings flying everywhere.

“This one”, he thought. “This one, right next to that guy spewing shit everywhere with his string trimmer.” Never mind the noise… what could possibly happen?

I’ll tell you what could possibly happen… you’ll lose your fucking window—and leave the scene with a few stinging welts about your arms and neck. And that’s exactly what happened…

I never even saw the guy pull in… I was trimming around the base of an ornamental tree—with a perimeter mound of mulch—paying close attention not to throw any mulch bits against my legs. I was walking backwards, tapering the edge around the mulch when, PUNPK! There it was. I whip around, thinking to myself, “What the…?” I knew it was car glass, but how?! No one parks here while I’m working—no intelligent person. But there he was, rubbing his arm and neck and looking at a shattered passenger window.

“Did I just do that?!”, I asked him. Thinking to myself, “You stupid fuck! Why in the Hell would you park here?!” “Yeah…”, he answered, looking shocked. I glanced over the hood of his car to see the dozen or so empty parking spaces and said, “Geez, you parked it pretty close to me, huh?” “Well, my office is just through there”, he said while gesturing to an business entrance about 20 feet away. Fucking great—he works here. No. He didn’t just work here—he owned it.

I paid for the window… took me an hour to find someone that would come out to replace it in the four-hours I had to work with, but it got replaced. Having done lawn maintenance for six-years now without a single broken window or sprinkler head—knock on wood—it was bound to happen at some point. And it did.

On the brightside, I thought of a great idea for a t-shirt that might help prevent such a thing from happening again—a t-shirt that reads: Keep back 50 feet. Not responsible for broken glass. Sure, it wouldn’t save me from having to replace a broken window or storm door, but it might make people think enough to park their vehicle a few spots down from me in the future.