honesty
the underground tunnel was bustling. it was the weekend after all.
he'd been working the same shift for a while now but for all the hours he had put in, he still found it hard to tune out the noise and the crowd.
it took him a while, more than most, to concentrate. to stay focused on the job at hand. but he tells himself that his was an important job, and that important jobs had to be be done, and be done well.
"concentrate."
it is an unfortunate truth that he wasn't a very intelligent person. and it didn't help that he was born to a poor family who couldn't afford his special needs tuition. so it came to pass that he scavenged through life the best way he knew how - with eyes up, a lowered head, and a half-confused smile. what roadblocks did he face? what walls did he climb? what words did he endure? what prejudiced looks had pierced him before?
as he homed in on the loose piece of scrap that lay on the floor, trampled upon by the thousands that passed by unaware, with his chin tucked in and his mouth slightly agape and his lower lip hanging loose, his right hand gripped the broom a little tighter and his left maneuvered the dustpan into the ready.
"concentrate."
it was an honor for him to have this job. most people he had met in life wouldn't give him a second thought or hung around long enough to meet his gaze, and so he considered himself a most fortunate soul to be donning a uniform and entrusted with this, arguably the most important job in the world. it was with this single-minded happiness that he begins his days, and it was this quiet joy that made his life meaningful.
but even now as he waits patiently for the crowds to offer him an opening to approach that vile and treacherous sliver of compost that sullied his otherwise pristine ground, he is ever aware of his place. still very much the outcast. still very much overlooked. he must remember to stay in the background. he must not come into view. he must not get in the way.
"concentrate."
despite his pride, his uniform was dirty and unpressed. he had not been taught how to clean his clothes. he also walked with an unnatural limp. a previous injury, perhaps? or simply a case of poor psycho-motor skills? still, it was beside the point. although it does hamper his speed, it made little difference to the core of which he had been entrusted.
he shuffled forward now. little by little until the offending trash was in his sights. where he stood now cut an eddy into the wave of human traffic. the eye of the storm. gently he lay down the dustpan with his left and in a ballet of motion, flicked deftly with his right. indeed, God himself could not have wafted paper so.
such fluidity, such beauty is rarely seen in one's lifetime. but here is a man who himself just accomplished it. and with his eyes up, his head lowered, and with a half-confused smile, he sought another chance to do it again.
"concentrate."
------------------
i find myself very intrigued and inspired by honest, determined people.
he'd been working the same shift for a while now but for all the hours he had put in, he still found it hard to tune out the noise and the crowd.
it took him a while, more than most, to concentrate. to stay focused on the job at hand. but he tells himself that his was an important job, and that important jobs had to be be done, and be done well.
"concentrate."
it is an unfortunate truth that he wasn't a very intelligent person. and it didn't help that he was born to a poor family who couldn't afford his special needs tuition. so it came to pass that he scavenged through life the best way he knew how - with eyes up, a lowered head, and a half-confused smile. what roadblocks did he face? what walls did he climb? what words did he endure? what prejudiced looks had pierced him before?
as he homed in on the loose piece of scrap that lay on the floor, trampled upon by the thousands that passed by unaware, with his chin tucked in and his mouth slightly agape and his lower lip hanging loose, his right hand gripped the broom a little tighter and his left maneuvered the dustpan into the ready.
"concentrate."
it was an honor for him to have this job. most people he had met in life wouldn't give him a second thought or hung around long enough to meet his gaze, and so he considered himself a most fortunate soul to be donning a uniform and entrusted with this, arguably the most important job in the world. it was with this single-minded happiness that he begins his days, and it was this quiet joy that made his life meaningful.
but even now as he waits patiently for the crowds to offer him an opening to approach that vile and treacherous sliver of compost that sullied his otherwise pristine ground, he is ever aware of his place. still very much the outcast. still very much overlooked. he must remember to stay in the background. he must not come into view. he must not get in the way.
"concentrate."
despite his pride, his uniform was dirty and unpressed. he had not been taught how to clean his clothes. he also walked with an unnatural limp. a previous injury, perhaps? or simply a case of poor psycho-motor skills? still, it was beside the point. although it does hamper his speed, it made little difference to the core of which he had been entrusted.
he shuffled forward now. little by little until the offending trash was in his sights. where he stood now cut an eddy into the wave of human traffic. the eye of the storm. gently he lay down the dustpan with his left and in a ballet of motion, flicked deftly with his right. indeed, God himself could not have wafted paper so.
such fluidity, such beauty is rarely seen in one's lifetime. but here is a man who himself just accomplished it. and with his eyes up, his head lowered, and with a half-confused smile, he sought another chance to do it again.
"concentrate."
------------------
i find myself very intrigued and inspired by honest, determined people.
posted by bobby @ 12:42 AM
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