Jorge was grateful for the rain.
Jorge and I happened upon the same parking lot near a Minneapolis lake one morning last week. I was heading to my car when I noticed the big portable toilet lying on its side like a felled tree. Jorge was just arriving in his impressive Biffs Inc. service truck.
Jorge, who has worked for Shakopee-based Biffs for nine years, seven of them on this very route, normally doesn't make his rounds on this particular day. But a particular incident the night before required that he show up. Somebody apparently thought it would be funny to push a Biff over; the target was the large, ADA-regulation size sandwiched between two smaller units. The culprit probably wasn't thinking about how these choices play out in the light of day.
Jorge studied the scene for a minute from the comfort of his warm, dry truck. Then he jumped down. He pulled on psychedelic orange gloves, positioned his hands around the Biff's roof and heaved it upright. Things weren't looking as bad as I thought they'd be at this point.
I ask my first dumb question.
"So, who has to clean it up?"
He looks at me funny. Points to his name tag.
"Kids?" I ask next.