Palaver from Persimmon Crossing

with Warren Faulk

 

Campaign 2001 - Recycling Phase

This must be what it feels like (for some people) to start out running for political office or to pursue a job in the Diplomatic Corps. You need something to do and you have a desire to do something worthwhile for the community, the county, the country. At any rate, that's how I ended up working in the county operated Waste Management and Recycling Center just a short walk from my home.

I've been working there for one month and I love it. Let's dispense with the downside right away. A good man died opening up this slot. I did not know him, but apparently everyone else in the county did and liked him. The pay is so low that I can only hope and pray that I will be able to afford to work here for the rest of my life. The sun is hot in Georgia and I will have to go back to wearing a hat like I did in the Army, but this time it will be a straw hat with a feather.

So here we have many of the elements of a desirable job. A chance to meet people under pleasant circumstances, an opportunity to offer assistance, an open door for promoting recycling, plenty of physical exercise, topped off by a feeling of accomplishment. I already see the need to regulate my tendency toward collecting things. Lots of things from Grandpa's barn do end up in the trash and I just can't keep all of them. And quotable quotes...

" I can just see your house in six months, no I won't be ABLE to see it." ( This from a friend who shares my love for antiques and history)

"Oh! You're the cow guy." (Referring to Duke, my Texas Longhorn pet.)

"You're Duke's daddy."

"It's not metal, it's aluminum."

"I bred that rabbit I got from you, to a buck that's kin to me." (Belongs to me.)

"My wife uses my truck for a trash can." " My husband uses his truck for a trash can." (Same truck - different drivers.)

"I didn't know we had a white man working here." (Another month of this sun and you won't.)

Then there is Billy, the little red headed boy who lives next door and always seems to be under foot. For the fortyleventh time I was shooing him away when he produced a bouquet of dandelions which he called sunflowers (close enough). He said "these are for you. Save one for Mr. Leo ... he's mad at me too."

-- Warren Faulk
Smarr, Georgia

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