A tipped-over Biff isn't that funny in the light of day

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.

"Sometimes it's kids. Sometimes it's men," Jorge tells me. "They get angry. Push it down." Jorge shrugs his shoulders.

A large fellow in a raincoat approaches, surprising Jorge and me by going right past us and into the Biff in question. He comes out with news.

"There's excrement all over the wall in there." Except he doesn't say excrement.

The large fellow in a raincoat seems eager to let Jorge have it.

Jorge smiles in a really-sorry-man sort of way.

I stand in the rain, waiting for Jorge to re-emerge. Hoping that he will. Soon.

Jorge seems surprised that I am still standing there a few minutes later. But I have more questions.

"This happen a lot?" I ask him.

Jorge's eyes dance a little. A soft-spoken man, he chooses his words carefully. He nods. "Sometimes."

Another man arrives, this one on a bicycle. He parks it, wisely chooses another portable unit. He can't get back on his bicycle fast enough.

Time for the heavy artillery. Jorge flips on the motor for the fat Biff hose, sucking up the remaining detritus.

Jorge does all of this without a second of grumbling. His boss, Mike Pauling, knows exactly who I'm talking about when I call him later.

Jorge Franceschini-Rivera, 43, came here from Mexico. He is in this country legally, gentle bloggers. He makes $18 to $20 an hour, working up to 60 hours a week with overtime. If you'd like his job, shoot me an e-mail and I'll put you in touch with Pauling. But Pauling would be hard-pressed to find anybody he appreciates more than Jorge Franceschini-Rivera.

"He has just been a very faithful employee, so prompt and thorough," Pauling says. When the company bought this $90,000 tanker, Pauling had no qualms about handing the keys to Jorge. "He was like a kid in a candy store, a fellow like that getting that much responsibility. He's been so proud."

Even about this particular aspect of the work.

Jorge sees the bright side. The Biff was knocked down just the night before. It's a cool, rainy day, about 50 degrees.

"Sometimes, they stay down for two, three days, in the hot sun."

Jorge shakes his head and lets out a whoosh of a sigh.

"That's hard."