It is at that time when the city shows its two most extreme faces. We come across young people who leave the nightclubs; some pass by with indifference, others mock the smell that permeates our reflective vests, but there are also those who surprise us with a noble gesture: a building watchman who leaves with a hot thermos, or the owner of a bakery that opens the blind early and gives us freshly baked bread to accompany the day.
Many people think that the dump is invisible. They see us as part of the street furniture, figures dressed in phosphorescent green that only exist to clean what no one wants to see. But behind every uniform are projects, sacrifices and entire families waiting for our return at dawn.
I remember a winter night when an elderly neighbor came out on the sidewalk just to deliver three blocks and say, “Thank you for leaving the street clean for my grandchildren.” Those small details are worth more than any extra payment, because they return the sense of dignity to a work that often bears unfair social prejudices.
