Hard to imagine begging for this job

But at this time last year, that's exactly what I'd have been doing on a drizzly day like this. We used to stand up on our tippy toes hoping Gilly would pick us to go clean catch basins with one of the lazy, paunched union guys, the alternatives being a cacophonous recycling truck, a weed wacker, or some other tool that would burn your back while getting soaked through, for hours, with no sitting. This guy may look miserable now, but in a moment he'll climb into a warm truck that smells like oversugared and overmilked coffee, and he'll spend the rest of the day driving around ten minutes for every two in the weather, lids half closed with the smell of over-milk-and-sugared coffee, and nothing to ponder except the heat and the radio. In all likelihood, he's having a better day than anyone who will read this.