I stopped by Oddly Correct this morning to get my second round of coffee. I sat in the window watching Main Street’s steady flow of traffic sputter by. The seemingly wealthy in Escalades and Mercedes Sedans, mixed with those in S-10 pickups and beat-up Kias, all racing to some stressful destination. With the exception of a few honking horns and the perpetual train whistle that always hangs in the Kansas City air, the world seemed quiet and bland. Until a demolition service work truck pulled up to the red light.
“We wreck anything,” said the sign on the door. The truck’s bed was filled with twisted pieces of Rebar. The windows were rolled down and the driver was wearing a big ass smile. Clearly he was getting some kind of satisfaction out of his morning ritual. I began to compare and contrast his job to mine. He knocks things down and I attempt to build them up—sometimes out of absolutely nothing.
For a moment, I considered some kind of reality TV, trading places scenario. I learn how to wire dynamite or swing a wrecking ball and he takes over my copywriting duties. After a few days, I’m sure we’d go running back to our respective professions. But it could be fun for a while. For perspective.