A story... author unknown
I had been working much too
long on this job. I guess things could have been worse. I
certainly wasn't doing hard labour. But going door to door
asking questions as a representative of the federal
government wasn't the most satisfying position either.
It was August. It was hot. I had to wear a tie.
"Hello. My name is Bob Perks and we are doing a survey
in this neighbourhood..."
"I'm not interested! Goodbye!"...slam, lock.
You can't imagine how many times I heard that. I finally
caught on and began with "Before you slam the door, I am not
selling anything and I just need to ask a few questions
about yourself and the community."
The young woman
inside the doorway, paused for a moment, raised her eyebrows
as she shrugged her shoulders confused by my rude
introduction.
"Sure. Come on in. Don't mind the mess.
It's tough keeping up with my kids."
It was an older home in a section of the valley where
people with meagre income found affordable shelter. With the
little they had, the home looked comfortable and welcoming.
"I just need to ask a few questions about yourself and
family. Although this may sound personal I won't need to use
your names. This information will be used..."
She interrupted me. "Would you like a glass of cold
water? You look like you've had a rough day."
"Why
yes!" I said eagerly.
Just as she returned with the
water, a man came walking in the front door. It was her
husband.
"Joe, this man is here to do a survey." I
stood and politely introduced myself.
Joe was tall and lean. His face was rough and aged
looking although I figured he was in his early twenties. His
hands were like leather. The kind of hands you get from
working hard, not pushing pencils.
She leaned toward
him and kissed him gently on the cheek. As they looked at
each other you could see the love that held them together.
She smiled and tilted her head, laying it on his shoulder.
He touched her face with his hands and softly said "I love
you!"
They may not have had material wealth, but
these two were richer than most people I know. They had a
powerful love. The kind of love that keeps your head up when
things are looking down.
"Joe works for the borough,"
she said.
"What do you do?" I asked.
She jumped right in
not letting him answer.
"Joe collects garbage. You know I'm so proud of him."
"Honey, I'm sure the man doesn't want to hear this,"
said Joe.
"No, really I do," I said.
"You see Bob, Joe is
the best garbage man in the borough. He can stack more
garbage on the truck than anyone else. He gets so much in
one truck that they don't have to make as many runs", she
said with such passion.
"In the long run," Joe
continues, "I save the borough money. Man hours are down and
the cost per truck is less."
There was silence. I
didn't know what to say. I shook my head searching for the
right words.
"That's incredible! Most people would
gripe about a job like that. It certainly is a difficult
one. But your attitude about it is amazing," I said.
She walked over to the shelf next to the couch. As she
turned she held in her hand a small framed paper.
"When we had our third child, Joe lost his job. We were on
unemployment for a time and then eventually welfare. He
couldn't find work anywhere. Then one day he was sent on an
interview here in this community. They offered him the job
he now holds. He came home depressed and ashamed. Telling me
this was the best he could do. It actually paid less than we
got on welfare."
She paused for a moment and walked
toward Joe.
"I have always been proud of him and always will be. You
see I don't think the job makes the man. I believe the man
makes the job!"
"We needed to live in the borough in
order to work here. So we rented this home." Joe said.
"When we moved in, this quote was hanging on the wall just
inside the front door. It has made all the difference to us,
Bob. I knew that Joe was doing the right thing." she said as
she handed me the frame.
It said: If a man is called
to be a street sweeper, he should sweep the streets even as
Michelangelo painted or Beethoven composed music, or
Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well
that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say,
"Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well."
Martin Luther King
"I love him for who he is. But
what he does he does the best. I love my garbage man!"
So how was your day? Did you give it your best?
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love my garbage man