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The pleasure of watching others workThe Column: 08.18.23
Moving out of Minnesota and moving some of the furniture to a New York apartment has given my love and me a fine appreciation of movers, and we believe we got the best but who knows, maybe they’re all this good. Sinewy young men with strong backs and good manners and a keen eye who can angle an upright bedstead to fit in a freight elevator with inches to spare and coax it through a doorway — “Got it?” one says, “Got it” says the other — and into a short hall and then maneuver it partway into one bedroom so as to get the angle into the destination bedroom, and afterward they stand and admire their work. “I didn’t think we’d get that sucker in here,” says one and the other agrees. I am no part of this. I’m sitting in the kitchen because no furniture is coming in here. I’m staring at my laptop. They can see that I am of the dilettante class and they are of the class that gets the job done. Also I am old and teeter so they don’t want my help, thanks very much. You’re bringing in a sofa and suddenly you’ve got a cardiac situation on your hands. No, these guys are working for my wife; I’m out of the picture. She worries over them, exclaims in wonderment at their finesse, laughs at their jokes, and when the job is done, she presses big bills into their hands. This was the fourth time in one week that I was struck by competence. I met some EMTs on Long Island who attended to me after I had a seizure onstage and stood blank-faced for a couple of minutes. They were cool and asked questions and after ten minutes I remembered what I had blanked on. I saw a waiter in the dining car of the westbound Southwest Chief carry a tray of water glasses past our table as the car lurched and swayed as if an earthquake had hit Kansas and he swayed with it, no problem. He looked at me, he said, “We have magnets on our shoes.” Got to Arizona where the Grand Canyon runs a railway line for us tourists and a cowgirl with long blond hair and guitar came in the Vista-Dome car and sang for us Kate Wolf’s “Across the Great Divide” and Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country,” a summer job for her, likely minimum-wage, but she sang them from the heart so kindly, I was moved. I’ve come across receptionists who made it clear they hated their jobs and others who were receptive. Waiters who wished they were elsewhere, waiters who enjoyed the back and forth. I was on the phone with a woman at one of those reservation agencies that plays robotic music on Hold but there she was, smart, precise, friendly, and I wanted to say, “Of the hundreds of anonymous telephone people I’ve dealt with lately, you really stand out in the crowd, kid,” but I was afraid it’d sound condescending, so I didn’t. The world gets smaller as you grow old and lose your ambition to conquer and capture and you notice what’s in your immediate vicinity more than you did before. We are surrounded by good workers, most of whom we are hardly aware of. The garbage is collected, some of it is recycled, a high level of decorum is maintained, the trains run in a timely manner. I rode the train out of Chicago, passing a mile-long freight train of containers on flatbeds, the supply line for the city. I have friends who’ve been hit hard by dreadful circumstances but each of them has competent people at work in their behalf. A brain aneurysm here, Alzheimer’s there, a hoarding compulsion, the death of a husband. The press, of course, is fascinated by stories and the best ones are about crime, disaster, downfall, and the steady march of a museum-quality conman to corrupt our country, but the reality is that we’re a civil society thanks to the good workers around us. Young people face the challenge young people of all time have faced: Be Good at Something, Make Yourself Useful. My dad was a carpenter and how I wound up in the amusement business is anybody’s guess but the night I turned 81 I did a hilarious two hours of stand-up and everyone laughed hard, including a woman 34 weeks pregnant and she went to the hospital and the child was born safely. Score an assist for the old man. Pick up this pick-me-up! In his book Cheerfulness, Garrison Keillor sheds light on the immense good that can come from a deliberate work ethic and a buoyant demeanor.CLICK HERE to buy it today!You’re on the free list for Garrison Keillor and Friends newsletter and Garrison Keillor’s Podcast. For the full experience, become a paying subscriber and receive The Back Room newsletter, which includes monologues, photos, archived articles, videos, and much more, including a discount at our store on the website. Questions: admin@garrisonkeillor.com |
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