6.1 The Trashman

The Trashman

Saturday, April 7 

Steve and I hauled trash for four solid hours continuously, except for aboutfive minutes when we stopped to talk. My shoulder hurt wickedly each timeI put another full barrel on it, and my legs occasionally trembled as Iwas heading to the street, but the rest of me said Go, trashman,go.

I could not have imagined there would be joy in this. Dump. Lift. Walk.Lift. Walk. The hours flew by. 

Saturday meant most adults were at home on the route. So were school-agechildren. I thought this might mean more exchanges as I made the roundstoday. Many people were outdoors working in their gardens or greenhouses.Most looked approachable enough. There wasn't time for lengthy talks butenough to exchange greetings that go with civilized ways. 

I was shocked to find that this wasn't the case. 

I said hello in quite a few yards before the message registered that thiswasn't normally done. Occasionally, I got a direct reply from someone wholooked me in the eye, smiled, and asked,How are you? or Isn'tthis a nice day? I felt human then. But most often the response waseither nothing at all, or a surprised stare because I had spoken. 

One woman in a housecoat was startled as I came around the corner of herhouse. At the sound of my greeting, she gathered her housecoat tightly abouther and retreated quickly indoors. I heard the lock click. Another womanhad a huge, peculiar animal in her yard. I asked what it was. She staredat me. I thought she was deaf and spoke louder. She seemed frightened asshe turned coldly away. 

Steve raged spontaneously about these things on the long ride to the dump.The way most people look at you, you'd think a trashman was a monster.Say 'hello' and they stare at you in surprise. They don't realize we'rehuman. One lady put ashes in her trashcan. I said we couldn't take them.She said, 'Who are you to say what goes? You're nothing but a trashman.'I told her, 'Listen, lady, I've got an IQ of 137, and I graduated near thetop of my high school class. I do this for the money, not because it's theonly work I can do.

I want to tell them, 'Look, I am as clean as you are,' but it wouldn'thelp. I don't tell anyone I'm a garbageman. I say I'm a truck driver. Myfamily knows, but my wife's folks don't. If someone comes right out andasks, 'Do you drive for a garbage company?' I say yes. I believe we're doinga service people need, like being a police officer or a fire fighter. I'mnot ashamed of it, but I don't go around boasting about it either. 

A friend of my wife yelled at her kids one day when they ran out tomeet a trash truck. 'Stay away from those trashmen. They're dirty.' I wasangry with her. 'They're as good as we are,' I told her. 'You seem to havea lot of sympathy for them,' she said'Yes, I do.' But I never told her why. I had originally planned to stay at this employment for only two days butnow I'm going to continue. The exercise is great; the lifting gets easierwith every load, even if my shoulder muscles are sore. I become faster andneater each day. I'm outdoors in clean air. And, contrary to what peoplethink, I don't get dirty on the job. 

 I have decided, too, to keep saying hello in people's yards. It doesn'tdo any harm, and it still feels right. Frankly, I'm proud. I'm doing anessential task. I left this country a little cleaner than I found it thismorning. Not many people can say that each night. 

John Gardner wrote that a society, which praises its philosophers and looksdown on its plumbers, is in for trouble. "Neither its pipes nor itstheories will hold water," he warns. He might have gone a step furtherand called for respect for both our economists and our trashmen; otherwise,they'll both leave garbage behind.