I smiled a little.
“Well, I’ve been doing this job for twenty-seven years. I’ve worked before sunrise, after storms, on holidays, during heat waves, and through winters so cold my gloves froze stiff on the steering wheel.”
A boy in the second row stopped whispering to his friend.
I kept going.
“I have picked up broken glass after graduation parties so little kids didn’t cut their feet walking to the bus. I have hauled away ruined furniture after floods while families cried on their porches. I have emptied cans for widows who left thank-you notes taped to the lid because I was the only person they saw that week.”
A teacher lowered her eyes.
I saw one father slowly put his phone down.
“During the shutdown,” I said, “when everyone was told to stay home, my crew didn’t get to stay home. Trash doesn’t pause because the world is scared. Diapers still fill up. Food still spoils. Medicine bottles still get thrown away. If we stopped showing up, every clean neighborhood in this town would have learned exactly how much it needed people like us.”
That’s when Maribel looked at me differently.
Not embarrassed.
