The Garbage Collector
I’m traveling to San Diego to speak. I called my wife from my stop in Charlotte, and asked how her morning was going after she had driven me to the local airport.
She had driven home from dropping me off and found the water delivery guy and his truck at our side door. She stopped her SUV halfway up the driveway and ran over to unlock the house so that he could carry the bottles in and pick up the empties.
When she did that, Royce, our German Shepherd, made a move to protect the house from the water guy. While my wife was wedged in the door with a 90-pound Shepherd, our private garbage collector drove up the driveway to pick up the garage in back, but was blocked by the SUV. (The municipal trucks are too big to get back there and we’re not about to bring garbage 150 yards to the front gate.)
My wife started yelling to the garbage collector that she’d move the SUV once the water guy removed the empties and she could get Royce back under control. But when all that happened, she found the garbage collector carrying our garbage 20 yards around the SUV to his truck!
The clerks at the sundry store in the Charlotte Airport are surly, even though they just take money and give change. The garbage collector goes out of his way to get the job done.
“Let’s give him an even bigger tip for Christmas,” suggested my wife.
“Yeah,” I said, “and for you, too!”