It is 5 30 p.m. and I am writing this with the dirt of a scrap yard under my nails, on my clothes and probably in my lungs. The dirt and sweat were payment for one of the few fun things a boat yard owner gets to do once in a while. That is to say, fun to me, because I like making a good scrap run to the local recycle yard every few months in an effort to “stay grounded”, clean out the yard and to capture a few hard earned Ben Franklins.
I am in the habit of “sharing the wealth” with my crew and occasionally my wife. They all have become conditioned to expect a small return from the scrap yard run. With their hands out and their eyes glaring upon my return, I happily distribute the currency.
Today though, things are different because I began the day underneath a clean white shirt and silk tie. I began my day 10 stories in the air above the recycling yard in a climate controlled office tower with computers, digital coffee dispenser and a bunch of other people under clean white shirts and silk ties, none of whom I would guess even know where the recycle yard is. I expect they would be shocked to know that all of the bag and cart people who meticulously rid our streets of plastic bottles and glass end up in a long line, waiting to redeem their daily burdens for small bills in an effort to feed themselves and their children. The line is long, noisy and dusty, but patiently they waited as I did.
So as I wrap up this long day, I feel that I have experienced the Full spectrum of what it is to be a participant in this crazy buzz of activity we call our community, from the high to the low and in between too. My only wish is that more of us could experience this so that we could all respect each other a little more for what we are all endeavoring to accomplish, to get home safe at the end of a long day.