The Window Wiper

I had a boss who demonstrated for me what my dad had been telling me – if you love what you do you will make a living at it. This boss told me that a quick way to save money was to spend a few bucks on a bucket and a squeegee and we could cancel the contract with the person who washed the large windows that made up the entire outside of the store.
By the time this situation had come about, I had been an employee of that restaurant chain, between part time and full time, for almost twelve years. In that twelve years I worked, went to school, made bad decisions that make for great stories and managed to meet the woman who would be me wife (always remember that God does not play dice with the universe and that Fate is not some fickle bitch to be trifled with). My boss fired the window wiper and not long after that, I quit.
Since quitting, I’ve sold suits and furnaces and air conditioners. I’ve tried to sell used cars and only managed a few months of telemarketing the sale of pagers before accepting a job at a factory making auto parts. I’ve operated a production line, set up production lines, designed tooling for production lines, went around North American sorting parts that came off other people’s production lines. I’ve driven forklift, unloading supplier deliveries. I’ve scheduled deliveries from suppliers. I’ve loaded trucks, shipping parts to customer. I’ve analyzed releases from customers, so that they could get the parts they needed. Right now, I’m married to the woman I met while working for the boss that showed to me what my father tried to tell me, getting people who design and make tooling, to get things ready for people who setup tooling for people that make parts off that tooling, so that people who unload parts scheduled to come in from suppliers can deliver parts to production lines so that parts can be made so that people who load trucks for customers based on demands analyzed by other people can do so properly.
And, after a long, long day of doing this, I call my parents to make sure that my daughter was picked up from day school on time and that she is okay. I also want to make sure that they don’t make the mistake of letting her lay down for any length of time, because it will make my wife’s day very difficult if our daughter does not get a full night’s sleep, I get a chance to talk to my little girl on the phone, and she tells me, very seriously, that if I pick her up on time, and if I’m a good boy, I can have a beer.
I end up going for a beer without getting her sign off that I am a good buy, and I have a pound of chicken wings to boot. I don’t look at a menu. I just order the largest draft Canadian they have and ask the waitress what was the last flavour of wings she had. Whatever she had was good enough for me. She told me and then used the convenient touch screen to place the order.
“Oh, good,” the waitress said. “She’s here.”
Her exclamation was out of the blue so I had to ask just what she was talking about.
“The window cleaner lady,” the waitress explained. “They were getting filthy.”
I looked to my right to see the same lady who my old boss fired , smiling away, wielding shaft of a long squeegee, it’s dark black length of rubber contrasting sharply with the shiny brass metal that clamped it to the pole, her blond hair braided over one shoulder.

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One Response to The Window Wiper

  1. Bobby says:

    I like your latest two posts very much; I try hard most days to keep in mind that a chosen perspective can make the difference between adventure and misadventure.

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