There aren’t any pictures for this one.
I found myself on a sidestreet near my home, stuck behind a garbage truck. I was fully prepared to be irritated by the inconvenience. I watched as the truck lumbered twenty feet down the street and stopped, blocking all passage.
From the right side of the behemoth leapt a young man with the slender physique of a ballet dancer: all long limbs, ripped abs, and elegant extensions. He snatched the trash bins by the side of the road with the catlike grace of a predator, lifted each effortlessly, and arced them into the maw of the beast. He had a joyous smile on his face, and despite the roar of the truck he moved to the silky, syncopated beat of unheard hip-hop.
I had never before seen hard labor turned into such incredible beauty. It was not just the economy and stylishness of his movement, but the total embrace of and engagement with his work that made him shine. He was more saint than sanitary engineer, more genius of disposition than disposal worker. I was dazzled by the performance.
Eventually, I had an opportunity to pass the truck and go about my business. As I went by, I caught his eye and waved with all the enthusiasm I could muster. He acknowledged my acknowledgement with a serene nod and the same fantastic smile.
I went on my way feeling blessed.
OH!! That was YOU?