It’s not enough that my doctor’s staff, the checker at the market and the lawn guys treat me like I’m an old lady, add the trash man to that list. Honestly!
It’s one of those days — no, one of those weeks. You know — lots to do, no desire or energy to do any of it. Two days ago I spent with a friend at the passport office, waiting in line, waiting for an interview, waiting, waiting. Yesterday I woke up with a queasy tummy and spent the day pretty much lying around. This morning started out much better. Woke up early, fed the cats, made myself a big breakfast (hungry after not eating yesterday) and took off to feed and walk a friend’s dog while she’s on vacation. I’d been home only a few minutes when I heard the trash truck coming down the street. I ran out as the truck pulled up to my curb.
“Hi,” I said, to the guy sitting in the cab. He looked a bit ferocious with dreadlocks and diamond studs in his ears.
“Hi,” he said.
“Do you take televisions?” My old TV has finally given up the ghost. The remote control hasn’t worked for ages, and now the picture has gone. Definitely time for a new one. I don’t even remember when or where I got this one — it’s an off-brand that nobody’s ever heard of. Maybe someone gave it to me a couple of decades ago, which is all beside the point — it’s got to go.
“We’re not supposed to,” he told me, but didn’t turn away. He seemed like a nice guy in spite of the dreadlocks. “How big is it?”
“Uh … this big,” I told him, holding out my hands a couple of feet apart. “It’s the old square box.”
“Think it’ll fit in the trash can?” he asked. “Is it heavy?”
“Um… I dunno. Maybe. It’s probably heavy.” It’s not something I pick up and cart around the house, you know?
“We’re not supposed to,” he said again. But looking at me, he obviously felt sorry for the poor old woman. When I came in the house later and looked in the mirror, I could see why. I really was a sad sight. What hair wasn’t hanging in my eyes was plastered to my head courtesy of the baseball cap I’d worn to walk the dog. I’d pulled on an old pair of shorts that were too big and hung askew, and my shirt was one I just wear around the house — definitely in need of washing. And, of course, I’d put on no makeup at all and my eyes had large bags under them. Add that to the cuts and scratches on my arm from my latest altercation with the fig tree which didn’t want to let go of the fruit I wanted to eat, and yeah, I was indeed a pathetic sight.
“Is it ready now?” he asked, glancing at the house. I do believe he would have come on in and grabbed it What a break for me.
“No, it’s still hooked up.” (And I have no idea what is involved with un-hooking it from the satellite dish and re-hooking the new one when I get it, but that’s for another day — or maybe later this day.)
“Tell you what,” he said finally, “Next week if you put it out next to the trash can, I can lift it in and dump it.”
“Oh, would you?” I was so grateful. I’d wondered if I was going to have to drive the dratted thing to a recycling center and pay to get rid of it. I probably sounded as pathetic as I looked.
“Don’t you worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”
What a relief! It was all going to work out. Sometimes you just don’t know when someone is going to make your day. Talk about “random acts of kindness.”
Thank you Mr. Trashman.