I like our trash man.
I must clarify: I like the small business run by our neighbor down the road (1.5 miles, approximately.) Some man and his wife built a house and did some dandy landscaping, and also built a very large shed to house several trash trucks, and thereby began his local garbage collection business. Our trash was already being picked up by a nationally-known waste management company, but one day as I backed out of our drive, and onto the road, a man standing by a white trash truck stopped what he was doing and stood out in the middle of the road. Apparently he wanted to talk to me. Assuming I had an errant dog, duck, or horse on the loose, I slowed down and rolled down my window. (This is rural Kansas, not Flatbush.) This man smiled and handed me a business card. That's all. I read it, and told him I would sign up for his local service as soon as our "national" service expired: three months.
And so I did.
This man is very nice, as is his wife (the office person behind the scenes), and too, his employees. Like our UPS and Fed Ex men, they are kind to our nitwit canines. They are smiling, greeting folk. In this little neck of the Tall Grass Prairie, nice goes a long way. And I like that I can ride my bike down the road to their house to pay our bill. Pet their dog. Talk about golf and Department of Transportation business with them.
Early this morning that Spouse o' Mine and I were outside sizing up the clouds and trying to determine whether or not he should ride his bike 17 miles into work, or should I drive him in? And while staring up into the heavens, we were brought back to earth by a honk-honk-honk out in the road: the trash truck was driving by, and having seen that we had yet to set our bin out, honked a reminder as he passed.
Good on ya', sir.
That's a good business.