THE OBSERVATION BOOTH
OP / ED & PHOTO CREDITS ANDREA DIALECT
When it comes to those streets, can’t nobody do it like Mocha when those boots are on ground. As I embark daily upon most things that most dare not touch, just for us, they put that capital E in the word Essential.
This article draft is dedicated to all things that make up East Orange DPW – as well as each and every Department of Public Works that serves humanity throughout every state. Crew members, no matter where or when we cross paths, are my inspiration for my work, which entails everything DPW.
But today’s article draft is dedicated solely to East Orange’s subcontracted “Roselle Disposal” sanitation and recycling crew. Special thanks and shout out to Gary, Albert, and Eli – the recycling crew – and Gary, Shack, and Arthur – the sanitation crew from around the way. What amazing guys. I’ve been admiring their dedication to service and have been a recipient of their kind spirits for quite some time.
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SERVE
When it comes to rubbish, I finally have it down pact. Every other Tuesday – recyclables. And every Sunday and Wednesday night, those bins or receptacles need to be lined up like little toy soldiers, all in a row. Because like Johnny-on-the-spot, come Wednesday, Monday, or Thursday morning, our East Orange DPW Roselle-subcontracted crew members will be heard shouting their banter above the beep of that backup – like clockwork.
Gary the truck driver – that one can always be found outside of the truck, aiding the fellas (Albert, Eli, Shack, and Arthur) with that tug and dump. When those boots are on the ground, they yank those pileups to and fro, making whatever’s curbside disappear. It bows down to their command the moment they place their hands on it. That synchronized banter between the crew as they do what they do? Priceless. Take it from me.
I’ve always loved trucks, mainly because they’re so darn purposeful. But despite all those essentials neatly packaged and in tow, that big metal dinosaur – aka the garbage truck – is by far one of my favs. Those guys that dangle from the sides and the one that drives around the way? Dear to my heart. They knock those rig drivers I kinda used to love right outta the box – hands down. Let me tell you why…
It’s quite funny. Why? Because it’s a number. 428 – that’s my address, with one number switched, give or take. When I moved in almost two years ago, I never thought I’d become the cleanup crew for this multi-dwelling. And as an old-fashioned gal who dare not tell it all, I opt not to disclose the number count of all the testosterone living in that house.
Let’s just say I can use both hands, with a few digits left over, to tally it up – that’s including the teenagers. Each one that I feel is best suited for the job. Let’s also say this: it’s amazing how many fly guys can live with an enormous pileup. Fly guys that opt for tons of gear to suit the fit – gauging all those Amazon sheaves they toss into those bins, among many other things I’m forced to dispose of.
Ironically, lately, mysteriously overfilled garbage bags have been showing up – strewn all about the allocated space – missing the trash receptacles by inches. I was getting a bit frustrated by the cleanup that day – until I stumbled into the crew en route to work. I watched from the shadows, admiring the beauty of their teamwork once again.
Gary descended from the truck to assist, as usual. I watched those men put their hands on things – over and over – that most (likely those same fly guys) dare not touch. I observed solid waste and bulky, discarded furnishings being lifted with ease, with the willingness and enjoyment of youngsters at play. And as I passed, the reverence of my presence came from the bass of the loud honk of that horn – making it a proclamation: Queen coming through. As revered by nodding heads and softening smiles. Now protectors at watch during my 5:45 a.m. drive-by. We’d been served as always. I’d been served – in so many ways – by those unsung heroes again.
That encounter reminded me of the first time we officially met. I’d been awakened by the beep of the backup and the exchange of convo in the distance. They were a Godsend that day – my almost being late for work, forgetting that all those blue bins aligned the side of the house like toy soldiers instead of the front. They had already passed us by. Luckily, those shouts that awakened me had echoed from the perimeter of my neighbor’s house. (Their yank-outs are always my reminder.)
I jumped up, grabbed my coat, and went on the hunt. I could hear them in the distance, but now it was a matter of which block they had blocked. On the lookout, my clues began resonating even louder – and luckily, on a side street three blocks down, there they were.
It was still dark, and my running up on them had been a bit shocking. But work came to a halt as they all surrounded that damsel in distress. Leaning on a shoulder with a bowed head, I heightened my exaggerated performance in support of the fake cries. That’s when I heard that voice, resembling the bellow of the truck’s horn, spewing those supporting words: “Where it’s at?”
And just like that, Gary was back in the truck, and the other two were assisting with the backup. Those online acting lessons? Always come in handy. Of course, they knew I was pretending – lol. On that day, I made it to work on time. And the pileup of boxes and things had been removed, as the crew aided with the front-of-the-house bin and waste grab-up – along with the side.
On that morning, I was furious about yanking those bins and picking up the two overfilled garbage bags that had been deliberately tossed on the ground, literally inches shy of those cans. But my being late once again was a Godsend. From the shadows, it allowed me to see the willingness and enjoyment of the crew at play – as they served us. And at that moment, I knew I too must do the same. Whether others do it or not. Even when things are tossed deliberately, I am to do it with enjoyment.
Those gentlemen taught me how to, serve that day.
So I said yes to servicing 428. And I say yes to Service need be. Even when it means doing things that no one else will – or wants – to do. Even if it means handling dirty when it’s deliberately thrown. Yes, yes, yes – I accept. I promise.
Remembering also with certainty that even though it may come across as a thankless feat, there are those watching from the shadows – that may one day too opt to serve us by getting down and dirty, because of me. As finding the beauty in developing a taste for trash and being dirty – and lovin’ every minute… ow about you?
DO YOU KNOW ANY OF OUR COMMUNITY ACCESS CONTRIBUTORS?
- IF SO LET THEM KNOW THAT THEY’VE MADE THE CUT AND THEY ARE THE TALK OF LOCAL TALK THIS WEEK!
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