March 7 – “APS to the rescue”

It all begins with the trash pickup service here on the Island.  Well, that should read services.  First a fully staffed (at least three guys) “Trash” truck arrives to pick up any debris such as tree branches or large boxes, basically anything that won’t fit into the garbage receptacle that is issued by the city to everyone who uses their services.  Later the designated “Garbage” truck arrives, fully equipped with a driver and a giant claw.  It’s his job to locate the best position for the claw to do its work, grabbing the household garbage receptacles and hoisting them all the way to the top of the truck and dumping the garbage therein. 

Now, the trash truck had just passed our house, leaving numerous branches in their wake, as well as quite a few garbage cans standing askew, to such an extent that their cohorts who would come by later would never be able to pick them up with the claw truck.  I dutifully re-situated our cans and those of our new neighbors across the street (No, they haven’t completely moved in yet.  They are in the process of painting first).  Once that task was completed, we headed on our way to … you guessed it … WalMart.  And as we rounded the corner from our house, what vision should erupt before us but that of a trash truck.  The very one, in fact, that had just departed our own street.  The truck was pulled to the side of the street, as one would expect.  But there on the sidewalk lay an injured trash worker, writhing in excruciating pain. 

Chris stopped the car and rolled down her window, calling out to see if he was all right.  Not so much, apparently.  He explained that he had turned his ankle and it was really hurting bad.  I got out of the car and asked Chris to go back to the house to get some ice.  He had removed his shoe and pulled his sock down, so I could clearly see the offending appendage.  Now I don’t mean to downplay the guy’s pain threshold, and I certainly am no doctor.  But the site was not swollen or disfigured in any way.  They had followed their own protocol about calling in a supervisor, so there was nothing to do but wait.  Just before Chris returned with the ice, a random guy in a pickup truck stopped.  He approached the downed worker, assessed the situation, and grabbed the guy’s ankle.  He started pushing and rubbing the affected area, “Does it hurt here?  How about here?”  He pulled on the foot.  I thought to myself, “I sure hope this knows what he is doing.”  Almost in answer to my thoughts, he finally offered, “Your nerves on the ankle are all bunched up and you rolled over one of them.  You can see them.  I know what I’m talking about.  Do you know why I know?  Because I play soccer.”  And that was it.  He plays soccer.  Full certificate of medical doctor licensure comes when you join a soccer team, I suppose.  Things must have changed a lot since our boys played soccer.  Since he was obviously in such good hands, we applied the ice and, well, went to WalMart.  All of the workers were gone when we returned.  The truck was still there, but no human beings.  Maybe the APS came and picked him up.  They would need the others as witnesses, I suppose.  Oh, the APS?  Alien Paramedic Services, of course.

Psalms 36:10 says, “Continue your love to those who know you, your righteousness to the upright in heart.”

Father, ease the pain that guy was having and help him get back on his feet quickly.  Amen.