When was the Last Time you Thanked your Garbage Man?

Dear Henry,
       Today December 25, is a National Holiday that approximately 250,000,000 Million Americans celebrate. For some Americans, like myself, this is a day in which there is blessedly no traffic, in which I consume enormous amounts of Chinese food. But for the majority of Americans, this day is a very spiritual, special day. And since this day falls on a Thursday this year, a handful of these 250,000,000, spent their night last night, on December 24th, collecting the garbage in the frozen, quiet city streets. Last night, instead of spending time with their families, sipping hot Cocoa by the fire place, knitting mittens and playing Monopoly, a number of amazing individuals went out to work. For them, work means standing on the back of a car, in sub-zero weather, stopping every ten feet to empty dirty, smelly garbage into the back of their trucks. After doing this for one house, they continue on, and on, and on, the longer they continue on, the colder the temperature becomes.
     In my opinion, our garbage men and women, as they case may be, are exceedingly inspiring Americans that we all ought to learn from, for several reasons. Firstly, have you ever stopped to think about the service they provide for us? Imagine for a moment, that there was not garbage collection? Where would we put our dirty diapers, or our nasty smelling spoiled cantaloupe? We would just leave it in our backyards? Even if there was a dump we could take it to, how excited are you to transport the putrid smelling rubbish you have accumulated over the last week? How long will it take for that horrific smell to finally disappear from your car? These heroic garbagemen and garbagewomen, as the case may be, are providing you and I an enormously important service. And for that we are obligated to thank them.
   In addition we can all bask in admiration of our local garbage collection team for their dedication to their jobs, and their hard work. What job is there that requires more effort and sacrifice? Up here in the frigid Northeastern tundras, it gets bloody cold. And yet, every week, no matter what the temperature, rain, shine, hail, snow, blizzards, monsoons, what have you, they come, every single week, without fail. Are we as dedicated to our jobs as they? Are we willing to invest as much as they are? All I can do, is tip my metaphorical hat in admiration.
   Finally, we should give them credit for dutifully performing their jobs, despite not receiving any thanks, or positive feedback. Human beings crave compliment, and positive reinforcement. Mark Twain himself said, "I can live for two months on a good compliment." And even if you wanted to, like a mighty flash of lightening, the garbage truck can come roaring by like a mighty lion ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey, at any time, whether we are ready for it or not. Sometimes, in the grey, cold, Northeast, the garbage truck comes cruising down the block at 4:00 in the morning. Even the most noble intentioned Americans out there are not going to be waiting for the garbage man at 4:00 AM in their flannel jammies. It is a more thankless job than being a clergy member. And yet, they come through every single week. And even if they were mad at you for having too much garbage, what can they do about it? At least a waiter in a restaurant who is mistreated can spit in your food, or something. Not so with the garbage man. He just comes through for you, EVERY. SINGLE. WEEK.
       So Henry, I ask you the following question: When was the last time you thanked your garbage man? I triple dogg dare all of my thousands upon thousands of dedicated readers from Idaho to Belize, from Montana to Dji Bouti-- figure out a way to acknowledge your local garbage collectors for their hard work. Maybe glue a gift card onto the garbage bin, or tie a bow around it with a note. We all need to look at ourselves in the mirror and honestly answer the following very difficult question: When was the last time I thanked my garbage man?

Forever Yours,
Danny Wolfe

America's REAL Heros

7-17-2013


Dear Henry,

       I worked at Jeff's Diner as a waiter for about 6 months when I was 16, and I can tell you, its hard being a waiter. Its darn hard. Its probably harder than being a paint salesmen, but its not as hard as being a youth director. But in any case, its hard. You might be asking, oh Henry, whats so hard about being a waiter? The answer is that when you are a waiter, you have to deal with hungry people, and when people are hungry, they aint so rationale. They just want to eat. And when I worked at Jeff's Diner, a kosher restaurant, people REALLY wanted to eat, because they were fellow Jews, who really enjoy eating. And many times, these people bring in their elderly parents and grandparents and great grandparents, which becomes very difficult, because if you put the tomato on the wrong part of the sandwich, grandma is not so happy with you, and she lets you know it. In short, working in a kosher restaurant is one of the hardest things to do, because not only are you dealing with hungry people, but you are dealing with well-meaning Jewish hungry people, who are often elderly.
       With that lengthy introduction, oh Henry, I want to tell you about my night tonight. I went to an assisted living home where the elderly go when they advance in age. We went for dinner, to eat with my wife's precious, sweet, lovely grandmother. Grandma, however, is a little bit forgetful. As the ladies were serving us, waiting on us, I was very impressed, because they were dealing with hungry, elderly and forgetful Jews. How did that manifest itself? Grandma asked the nice lady for a slice of onion. By the time the nice lady finished taking all of our third and fourth requests for more applesauce, another fork, more water, two cups of orange juice, another cup, and an extra straw, as she was walking away, not sixty seconds more than the first request-- grandma called her back, to request another slice of onion. With a smile on her face, and not the slightest bit of agitation, the woman readily agreed to get grandma more onion.
       This seems like a simple story, but I believe it teaches us two fundamental life lessons. The first life lesson, is a lesson clearly taught in the Torah, and that is that we should not judge anyone until we are in their shoes. For many middle-aged folks, it is annoying when their parents start forgetting things. However, before we get annoyed, we should think what it would be like to be in our parents' shoes, being so forgetful. What would it be like if I did not remember what I did five minutes ago? What would it be like if I was nervous I would forget my apartment number? What would it be like if I didn't know who came to see me today, or what my plans were, or what day it was? It would be terrifying.
Before being annoyed that our grandparents forgot our name, or who we are, or where we live, we ought to first put ourselves in their shoes. And we should also cherish our own minds and memories, and be grateful for our ability to remember and have a mind that works properly.
        But what I really wanted to do in this blogg post was to give proper props to the incredible individuals who work at these old-age homes.  In a world where we idolize athletes, fame, and wealth, these people who work with the elderly very well might go unnoticed. My jaw literally dropped, as I saw these individuals return to our table, each time taking orders from all of us and Grandma, and responding with more patience and love than the previous time. I remembered the saintly women who dealt with my own grandmother during her last days in this world. My grandmother was afflicted with a very serious form of Alzheimer's, and she totally had lost her mind.  Yet it became crystal clear to all of us, that the women who worked there deeply cared for, and loved her. These people's deep patience and love is something that we all need to strive for.
       Life Lesson number two here, is that we need to evaluate who our heros are. Why are they are heros? Should we idolize individuals because certain unique individuals-- like myself-- were blessed with incredible super-human athletic talent? Or should we look around, and identify and give proper props to those people who really act in a heroic manner?
      Lets stop trying to be football stars--and start trying to be waiters in old-age homes.