In the tranquil expanse of suburban existence, Harold found himself ensnared within the unyielding monotony of his profession at the modest accounting firm of Dichter Boswith & Crongower. His days were further burdened by the relentless demands of domestic chores, perpetual home repairs, and the ceaseless task of self-maintenance. Despite these trials, he managed a semblance of social engagement through his membership at Asana Asylum, a local yoga studio, regular attendance at Wort Meister’s Tuesday Taste Night, and sporadic appearances at the Sovereign Manor Country Club for an occasional game of Texas Hold’em.
One evening, Harold arrived home from work, having stopped at Brannigan’s Bargain Food Cellar with the ingredients to prepare a modest meal with ample leftovers for the next day’s lunch. He put some water in a 6-quart pasta pot and placed it on the stove to boil. Next, he started to warm-up a drizzle of olive oil in a cast iron skillet and set that on low heat. As he unpacked his purchases and began to open and unwrap some of the items he was about to chop, dice and cook, Harold found himself jamming cans and plastic containers into an already overflowing soft-close, stainless steel, 20-gallon kitchen trash can. At once, his phone began to ring. He felt more than a bit frustrated with his workday, the long commute, the woman who ran over his heel with her shopping cart at Brannigan’s, and now, in this moment, what he believed to be a business-related call from Dave.
Dave was a junior associate at the accountancy who worked remotely from another part of the country, three hours behind. Dave had questions, and these questions always arose in the last hours of Dave’s workday and the first hours of Harolds recovery from his workday.
In a moment marked by domestic exasperation yet tethered to his unwavering dedication to work, Harold turned to his trusty dog, his loyal companion, and exclaimed, “Brightside, if you could lend a paw and take out the trash, I would be forever grateful.” This was not a serious request but was born of frustration as Harold attended to the call, providing the myriad answers and explanations that young Dave required to fulfill his duties and ultimately satisfy one of Harold’s most demanding clients at the accountancy.
As Harold spoke with Dave, deftly resolving a number of issues presented on the other end of the long-distance line, he lowered the heat beneath the boiling water and extinguished the burner beneath the skillet. Moving around the counter to deal with the trash, he was taken aback by the sight of an empty trash can, slightly askew and devoid of its usual bag. The stainless-steel receptacle stood as a mute testament to an inexplicable occurrence.
Brightside had emptied the trash. Removed the contents of the receptacle without a trace of garbage in sight. As Harold gazed in wonder, Brightside returned to the scene of this small miracle with a fresh trash liner in tow. Harold met the eyes of his beloved canine with adoration and then returned to his culinary endeavor. It was an astonishing feat, yet Harold chose not to overanalyze the occurrence. Instead, he embraced the overwhelming joy of receiving such a helpful deed, allowing him to lose himself in the preparation of a hearty meal. Not only did Harold savor every morsel of his freshly crafted quasi-Italian cuisine, but he also found delight in topping off Brightside’s bowl with what would have been his lunch for the following workday.
