The Tyndell Guarantee by Tyler Dowey

The Tyndell Guarantee by Tyler Dowey

Every lawn on Almeca Avenue is perfectly manicured down to the last detail. Except for Mr Kormeski’s. It’s been that way ever since Tommy Tyndell moved to town, nearly thirty years ago.

The studious house hunting conducted by his parents finally culminated in the four bedroom Craftsman smack in the middle of New Mexican suburbia. It provided the exact lifestyle the Tyndell’s needed.

To Tommy’s father Almeca Avenue meant familial structure. To his mother it meant a community of like minded individuals. And to Tommy it meant opportunity.

Back in those days, everyone cut their own grass. Neighbours would whip thick extension cords from one side of the yard to the other, each pass of the electric mower shaving off a negligible amount of emerald turf. They’d grunt and sweat away their free time, only to repeat the futile gesture all over again in a few weeks.

There had to be a better way.

In the months leading up to his thirteenth birthday Tommy compulsively petitioned his parents for a riding lawnmower. One of those big, ruckus causing machines with the silhouette of a deer emblazoned on the side. The request was so unusual his parents were forced to take it seriously. Unfortunately it was also way out of the budget.

Negotiations began.

Convincing both an Uncle and Grandmother to chip in, Tommy eventually argued his parents down to making it a combination birthday/Christmas gift that would cover the next two years. He got his mower and Tyndell Landscaping was born. Now all he needed were some clients.

Going door to door, Tommy offered fresh cut lawns in exchange for the rock bottom price of $4 a week. The kicker was his promise to deliver by nine in the morning each and every Sunday.

When neighbours asked him if he really thought he could accomplish such an ambitious task Tommy would smile brightly and proclaim “It’s the Tyndell guarantee!”

Adults were so amused by the industrious youngster that in just a few days almost all of Almeca had signed up. There was only one holdout.

A curmudgeon and a half, Dave Kormeski was pushing sixty and had a face that made people squint when talking to him. His house was the smallest and worst maintained on the block and just so happened to be directly across from the Tyndell’s.

By the time Tommy got to his door he’d perfected his sales pitch. He smiled up at the silver haired ogre and delivered his closer with charismatic aplomb.

“The Tyndell guarantee?” Mr Kormeski sneered. “What the hell is that?”

“Well,” Tommy spluttered. He’d never actually been asked to explain it before. “It’s my personal promise to always complete work on time and to superior satisfaction.”

He was improvising and Kormeski knew it. Eyes narrowed at the slender youth.

“How many people have you signed up so far?”

“The whole street,” Tommy bragged. “Everyone except you.”

“And just how do you plan on cutting forty plus lawns in a single morning?” his neighbour inquired arrogantly.

“With my riding mower,” Tommy beamed. He was about to recite the machine’s carefully researched specs when his prospective client let out a gravely harrump and slammed the door in his face.

Tommy’s head rocked back in offence. But he quickly shrugged it off. He knew the old grump couldn’t hold out long. He just needed to see his work.

The following Sunday Tommy was up at the crack of dawn. Out of respect for community bylaws, his parents wouldn’t let him start mowing before six forty five. It made nine o’clock a tight deadline but with twin engines roaring underneath him he managed to halve all of Almeca’s flora with twenty minutes to spare. He used the time to trim his parents lawn pro bono.

Neighbours were impressed. His mother and father were proud. Tommy was one hundred and eighty dollars richer. Yet somehow he was miserable.

He obsessed over Mr Kormeski’s yard. Watching from his bedroom window, he swore he could see the grass growing taller before his very eyes. He forced himself to wait another week before marching across the street. Surely Kormeski would have seen his work by now. He’d probably beg to get in on the action.

Tommy made his second pitch. Kormeski gave his second rejection. Defeated, the boy sulked back across the street. As he did, his antisocial neighbour pulled out his own push mower and slowly rolled it across his barren patch of land. Applying steady pressure to the wooden handle, Kormeski never looked up from his work though he surely knew he was being watched.

Tommy took it personally, ranting and raving to his parents. They commiserated and cajoled and eventually calmed him down. His father reminded him that not everyone is as fortunate as they are. To some people four dollars is a lot of money.

Tommy recognised his error. The next day he offered to cut Mr Kormeski’s grass for the bargain basement price of three dollars. And then two.

But even at a dollar a week Kormeski refused.

Tommy was beside himself. For years he’d captained his debate team and mediated recess arguments. He’d even bested teachers in educational discourse. Yet somehow this miserable jerk was the shrewdest negotiator he’d even encountered.

Tommy stewed for weeks, racking his brain to the point of compulsion. Ultimately, he opted for complete submission.

“Alright, fine. You win,” Tommy growled. “I’ll cut it for free.”

“No thank you,” came Kormeski’s curt reply.

“What?”

“I said no thank you.”

Tommy was flabbergasted. What else could the old man possibly have to gain?

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because your oversized toy is an insult. People around here used to take pride in their community. Do things right and with care. Not just pass the buck on to the next fella.”

“But I do good work! Just look around,” Tommy flailed his arms at the neighbouring lawns. His cheeks grew hot, flushing an embarrassing crimson.

“I’m sure you do,” Mr Kormeski nodded patronisingly. “But I prefer to do things my own way.”

He took a half step back and gently shut the door.

The little entrepreneur was outraged. Almeca Avenue could be such a beautiful place if this old bastard would just get out of the way. 

He formulated his plot right there on the porch. If he couldn’t convince Kormeski with exuberantly generous sales tactics, Tommy would shame him into becoming a client. Let’s see how the self-righteous geezer liked having the worst kept lawn in America.

For the plan to work Tommy’s influence needed to increase beyond Almeca Avenue.

Franchising Tyndell Landscaping wasn’t hard. By the end of the summer Tommy could already afford a second mower and had half of the kids at school begging him for a spin.

He signed up two more blocks of neighbours and hired a classmate as his first employee.

Their work was efficient, clean and always on time. Word of mouth spread and by his sixteenth birthday Tommy had ten mowers and nine employees working for him. By the time he was twenty he’d signed up nearly half of New Mexico and was no longer cutting grass himself. He was too focused on expansion. In the years that followed he added thirty five states to his domain and made the Tyndell Guarantee a household phrase.

As his first customers, Tommy (now almost thirty and going by the more refined Tom), ensured that all the lawns on Almeca Avenue continued to be freshly mowed by nine o’clock each and every Sunday

But still Kormeski resisted.

At this point it had to be pride. The old coot must be too proud to admit his mistake. Taking the high road, Tom told his man on the Almeca route to add Mr Kormeski to his list free of charge. But when the mower revved up to the decaying house, old Kormeski was waiting with a rusty pair of pruning shears and an even crustier attitude. The New Mexican standoff lasted nearly an hour before Tom called his man off and retreated in frustration.

He wanted to scream. Hurl insults from the sidewalk and demand satisfaction. But it would only cause a scandal he couldn’t afford.

By this point Tyndell Enterprises had become a global powerhouse. Tom took his landscaping fortune and invested in shipping and transportation. He used those earnings to expand into real estate. From there telecommunications and media. The Tyndell Guarantee now extended to more than just suburbanites with disposable income and little time.

Tom Tydell was forty-three years old. He’d brokered deals with titans of industry. Negotiated contracts with foreign governments and bought and sold multi-million dollar companies. He was the self-made success story children learn about in school.

And still Dave Kormeski kept him up at night.

Because to Tom the lawns on Almeca Avenue represented his passion. His vision and innovation. And until that included Mr Kormeski’s unkempt yard his legacy would remain incomplete.

He had no reason to visit the old neighbourhood since gifting his parents a ranch house in Santa Fe. But he had to try his luck with Mr Kormeski one last time.

It was a foggy Saturday morning when he stepped out of the taxi cab. Not much had changed on Almeca. Thanks to the superior work of Tyndell Landscaping the lawns remained in perfect condition.

The obvious exception was Mr Kormeski’s sunburnt grass. In fact, it was in worse shape than Tom had ever seen it. Weeds were smattered amongst ugly patches of dirt and the grass itself came up to his knee. If there was ever a time to get the best of his old rival, this was it.

Tom practically skipped up the steps to rap on the door. He knocked three times and received no answer. He was about to give up when the door was yanked open by a thirtysomething blonde with perfectly straight teeth and glasses that covered half of her slender face. Something about her was abstractly familiar but Tom was too startled to register it.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m looking for Mr Kormeski.”

“Oh,” the woman half whispered. “I’m sorry but he passed away last month. I’m his granddaughter, Shelly.”

The resemblance clicked. She had the same creases on her forehead. Similar flattened nose. Only the features that were miserably intimidating on Dave Kormeski were somehow captivating on his granddaughter.

Tom didn’t know what to say. He fumbled for the obvious “I’m sorry,” and then a more honest “I didn’t know he had a family.”

“We weren’t close until recently,” Shelly explained. “My grandfather was a complicated man.”

“That’s…pretty much how I would describe him too,” Tom gave her a sympathetic smile.

Her eyes narrowed to scrutinise him.

“You’re Tom Tyndell, right? Granddad talked about you now and then.”

By now Tom was used to being recognised. He’d plastered his name on so many billboards and skyscrapers over the years he’d become something of a celebrity. But the second part of her statement surprised him.

“Really?” he asked, almost afraid for her to elaborate.

Shelly nodded encouragingly. “Sure. He said you grew up in the neighbourhood. He was kind of proud of it.”

“Almeca Avenue meant a great deal to me,” Tom replied earnestly. “It still does.”

“I’ve been staying here the last little bit to tidy up his accounts. I hear your mowers every week. I’m guessing Granddad wasn’t on the list.”

“I tried to sign him up. But your Grandad was…” Tom trailed off, trying to find words that wouldn’t come across as disrespectful.

Shelly jumped in to bail him out. “Stubborn as a goat and refused help from anyone?”

“Something like that,” Tom chuckled.

Shelly nodded understandingly. “Well I’m fixing up the place to sell and the lawn could use some serious TLC. Do you have a number I can call?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Tom promised, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Almeca is on the schedule for tomorrow anyway. My guys will get it looking as good as new.  That’s th-”

“Tyndell Guarantee?” Shelly guessed, only half mockingly.

“You got it,” Tom grinned, amused by her charm.

They exchanged a few more pleasant words before Tom stepped back out to the sidewalk and called a cab.

He could hardly believe it. Thirty years of brinkmanship and the offer to complete his life’s work just drops in his lap by way of his ancient opponent’s charismatic granddaughter.

He pulled out his phone and navigated to his contacts. One of his first employees, Erin Robson was now the district manager for all of Tyndell Landscaping in southern New Mexico. She’d have no problem including Kormeski’s property on tomorrow’s schedule.

Tom’s finger hovered over the call button. Something about it just didn’t feel right.

It was all so disappointingly easy.

He turned to review the dilapidated yard behind him. Deciding not to dial Erin, he instead called back the taxi service and cancelled his ride.

He ventured behind the house and found an ancient tin shed. All the tools he needed were inside. He loaded up his arms with pruning shears, a splintering rake and Mr Kormeski’s old beat up push mower. It only took one trip to carry them back to the front of the house.

He laid the items on the threadbare grass and hung his jacket on the sagging porch railing.  Then, under the heat of a rising suburban sun, Tom Tyndell rolled up his sleeves, picked up the push mower and got to work.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Tyler Dowey 2025

Image Source: Willgard from Pixabay