Completing the illusion
So the people down the street have a needlessly fake lawn.
I have no issue with that.
I mean, in the Age of Twitter who really has time for grass upkeep in a horn o’ fecundity like San Francisco?
Admittedly, said ersatz ground covering deserves at least a modicum of appreciation. Environmentally, it saves humanity what, like 50,000 gallons / year of precious freshwater from being dumped on the ground (seeing how lawns quaff more water than the rest of your house combined).
Qualitatively, these people certainly have not chintzed on their fake yard. This shit ain’t AstroTurf. Rather, it’s the diggity dank of polyethylene lawn turf. Noticeably faux, yet very much double-take-worthy. Here, take a second look.
At first glance, though pathologically groomed, it passes for plausibly real Poa pratensis. On closer inspection, however—the kind where I grab a clump and yank it, just to make sure—my hunch is confirmed: every blade is identical, perfectly rectangular and obviously not a plant.
Then I notice the bogus sprinkler system.
Now that, gentle reader, is a character flaw.
These homeowners obviously have unresolved issues. Why else would you go to such pains to convince me your yard is real grass, when it’s patently not? If you have a synthetic lawn, fucking own it. That’s your front yard, man—your house’s first impression. Don’t pretend it’s not what it is. Be proud of that shit.
What I want to know is, how did these sprinklers get installed in the first place?
Was it a package deal, maybe the “Turf Deluxe Bundle” with the fake grass dealers? Or was it a separate service?
Perchance a do-it-yourself weekend project? A labor of maladjusted love worthy of a Lowe’s promotion for a methadone clinic? Nah. These people are too fastidious for that.
Or (here’s what I hope happened) do you think they actually called the real sprinkler dudes to make an appointment, then had them come over to install purely decorative sprinkler heads? Now that’s a phone conversation worth hearing:
(losing temper) What part of, ‘You won’t have to lay any pipe,’ don’t you understand? I don’t have time for this shit! Listen, Toby—if you can’t do it, I’ve got three other sprinkler guys lined up who will. Frankly, you’re starting to make my eczema flare up again.
In my mind’s eye, yes, that’s exactly how it went down.