The Window Washer

Originally posted December 2nd 2016

“They ain’t giving us no jobs,” he said, barreling down the sidewalk. His eyes were wide and searching. I could see my reflection in them. Something told me to stop, hear him out.

“Whatchu talking about?” I asked.

“They ain’t giving us no jobs, man.”

“Who’s they?”

“You know… the people in charge. The ones with the money, with the power. They don’t care about us. They’d rather see us struggle.”

I told him what I thought about jobs and went on my way.

A couple of months later, I saw him again. I was at a little bakery near my studio having some coffee when he barged in.

“I’m hungry!” he declared to woman at the counter. “Who cleans your windows?”

The owner popped out from around the back. “Um, sorry, can I help you?”

“Who cleans your windows?”

“Oh, ah, we had a guy…” the owner stuttered.

“Give me a pastry, and I’ll be back this afternoon to clean your windows.”

The man took his pastry and left.

He didn’t know I was there watching, but I took note.

A week later, I saw him again—same energy, same hustle. This time at another restaurant.

“Who cleans your windows?” he bellowed.

“Come back on Friday.” The owner said, ready with a response.

He scanned the room and saw me watching.

“Hey man, remember that day on the street talking about jobs?” He said, reaching out for a pound.

“Yeah, I remember,” I said, returning the gesture.

“You said something that stuck and it gave me an idea.”

“Oh, yeah? What did I say?”

“You said, ‘Why don’t you create your own job?’ and I thought, well damn, he’s right. Why not? Ever since then, I’ve been lining up these little shops, cleaning windows. Now I got clients in Stamford, Norwalk… all over.”

I smiled. “That’s what’s up!”

Little did he know how much his testimony and demonstration had inspired me.

A few weeks later, I was taking my son to the park when I ran into him again. This time, he was complaining about a restaurant owner who didn’t want to pay for the extra work he was putting in to get paint off the windows.

“These guys have restaurants and know nothing about business,” he moaned.

“Oh yeah? What’s business about?” I asked.

“It’s an exchange of value. And these guys don’t know value!”

“So what were you doing before I met you, complaining about no jobs?”

“I’m a cook. A line cook. But I guess things had slowed up and those jobs were going elsewhere...”

Somehow, the conversation led to Trump.

“…and you know what, I voted for Trump, too!” he said proudly.

“Oh, yeah?” Surprised, because he didn’t look like the type.

“Yeah, I even wrote him a letter.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they wrote me back, too.”

“What’d they say?”

“They said, ‘Welcome to the team!’”

I laughed, picturing him on the MAGA team, then pointed back to the job at hand.

“Why not create more value?”

He paused, looked me in the eyes and said, “I WILL!”

I haven’t seen him since. But I know, with more men like that…

I’m sure we could make America great again.

In the meantime, grab a copy of my book, The Corporate Dropout, here.