Smile and wave

Driving back to the office from my meeting in Lavender Hill yesterday, a man in a municipal truck waved his way into my peripheral vision. I was too concerned by the scarily-sized monster of a van in front of me to pay much notice as the bright yellow-orange solid waste truck sped past, but after catching that wave I got a little confused. Did I know this man?

Coincidentally, my family does know a man who works in solid waste, specifically in refuse collection. A few of years back, and I'm not sure how it all happened, it transpired that the man who emptied my parent's bin every week had a bakkie and an after-hours job in moving and removals, everything from building rubble to furniture. Since that happy discovery, he's been around every couple of weeks: fetching, carrying and dropping off. He's a legendary character, Mr Isaacs, with a sense of humour and biceps the size of small elephants. And he employes interesting characters to help him when necessary, some more qualified than others. My auntie swears she saw the man who carried her bath from the bakkie to her bathroom chilling on the side of the road around the corner from her house, she also swears that anyone who can carry a freestanding bath on their own is on some serious stimulants.

Anyway, so Mr Isaacs is an integral part of our family's DIY adventures, and he'll really go out of his way to help us out. Two or three Saturday nights ago, he picked up the cupboards that my dad and I spent the morning unbuilding. He was going to come on the Sunday morning but I called him in a late afternoon state of desperation: "Mr Isaacs I swear I can't move with these things here," I really couldn't move, the cupboards somehow multiplied in size when we took them apart and getting to my kitchen felt like completing an obstacle course. So, "PLEASE Mr Isaacs, you have to come and fetch them!" He did. See, legend. My dad saw him the next day and gave him a TV to sweeten the deal, so it really was a win-win.

Point is, I figured, hey, if someone is waving to me from a solid waste truck, it's gots to be Mr Isaacs.

I speed up, hover beneath the truck's high window and give a little hoot. The face that looks down at me is wholly unfamiliar. But man, this guy, whoever he is, is happy to see me. He smiles an enthusiastic and half-toothed smile and waves contagiously. I chuckle and wave back. If he's happy to see me, well then hells, I'm happy to see him. The truck turns right at the traffic lights and I'm back to my solo travel down the M5.

A few corners on I spot a billboard, advertising what I don't know, but with the slogan: "More Jobs, Less Labour Law." I realize I have my "huh?" face on. Who would advertise that? And who's the intended audience? Just, what? I'm all for mass employment, and mass employment that isn't exploitative. Unlike, I don't know, shmeconomics, I don't think that the two are necessarily mutually exclusive. But then again, what do I know: I pay my moving man in kitchen appliances as often as I do in cash, and I'm fairly sure that's a little farther away from labour law than it should be.

On the bright side, the south-easter has brought a change of weather to Cape Town. Even the hellish wind is better than the months of grey skies.