I imagine that most people who are employed have at least one friend whose job they envy. This friend presumably makes more money, or works better hours, or has an office in a more desirable location. Totally understandable. Initially, when I was looking for work, I found myself contemplating many different types of careers I had not previously considered, and for which I was in no way qualified. At CVS, I thought to myself, "Pharmacy school might be a blast!" Right, because I've taken one 200-level geology class and no math since high school. While trying on an expensive winter coat that I can in no way afford, I thought, "Retail has a lot to offer in terms of high commission and flexible hours." A research-based degree hardly prepares one for customer service, or for human interaction of any kind. These are examples of silly ideas which I may have entertained momentarily, but which I knew better than to actually pursue.
After several months of unemployment, however, any and all jobs begin to look and sound increasingly attractive. Case in point: Today is recycling day on my street. Recycling day can be a particularly abrasive experience for first-floor tenants like myself. Since moving into my apartment 18 months ago, I have dreaded the seemingly interminable bottle-and-can cacophony that echoes through my apartment each and every Thursday morning (except on Thanksgiving, I guess). That shit is seriously annoying. And loud. This morning, though, something was different. As I instinctively reached for the nearest pillow to drown out the noise, I paused: what I heard was not the sound of a thousand furious hobos rifling through an infinite number of oversized dumpsters. Those recycling guys were singing. They were singing, they were whistling, and I’m pretty sure they were making jokes. I’m guessing they do that every week, at least when the weather doesn’t suck, but I’d never taken note of it until now. This morning, the very first thought in my head was, “God, those guys are so fucking lucky to be garbage men.” Okay, so they’re recycling guys (and maybe girls, but I didn’t detect any sopranos in the group), which is a little bit better than being garbage collectors I guess, but still. I spent three years in grad-school hell to wake up to a fantasy about collecting other people beer bottles?! Whatever.
So I set out for lunch a few hours later, into a beautiful, autumnal afternoon in Brooklyn. The first thing I see is a guy raking leaves in front of the park across the street. The sun is shining; the foliage is a stunning array of colors, and it creates a lovely mosaic of orange and red hues on the pavement. I look at the man’s face, and he seems really happy to me. He seems, in fact, thrilled to be raking those leaves. I start to daydream about having a rake of my own, and getting paid to work alongside him. I could be providing a valuable service to the community, which, as urban labor jobs go, probably smells pretty good too. As I move closer, I realize this man is not a happy civil servant, but rather a recovering crack-head, participating in one of those “ready, willing, and able” programs. I was right, he is happy, but that’s only because he’s getting paid minimum wage to not be in prison. And also, he’s not living in a crack den. And also, it is a really nice day out, whether you’re a recovering drug addict or not.
No comments:
Post a Comment