Cleaning hearts - not floors...

“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as  Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music or Shakespeare

wrote poetry.  He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of

heaven and earth will say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper

who did his job well.’”

- Martin Luther King

A petite baguette, a chunk of Swiss cheese and a 250 ml bottle of yoghurt milk…yes sir, for a small breakfast, it doesn’t get much better than that!

Schiphol (pronounced skip-hol) in Amsterdam is an extremely busy international airport.  It is a hub where folk transfer in Europe for destinations far and wide.  It is even busier because it is a train station that carries people in and out of the city as well as places in all directions.

I had come in the day before and spent the night at the airport hotel.  It was up at my usual time and I headed to the British Airlines baggage counter for an early morning check-in and luggage drop off.  It would be three hours before the flight left, so I wandered around the place looking for something to eat.

“…looking for something to eat…” makes it sound like one had to hunt and lift a rock or two to find some nourishment.  In fact, there are so many places to eat that it is like trying to decide what to watch on TV with 150 channels to choose from! 

It was a bit overwhelming…should I go with food I recognize and know, or try something that I would not get or eat for breakfast at home?

Breakfast ala carte…

While trying to make up my mind, I passed a small grocery store.  That’s right a grocery store in the airport terminal!  

This wasn’t a place with just a little fruit, some pre-packaged sandwiches and drinks.  This was a market that had a ‘hot food under glass’ buffet like you might find in supermarkets in the U.S., and a fair number of isles with a significant amount of goods.  Granted, it wasn’t really big, but there were groceries and a pretty good selection! 

After wandering around a little I settled on the small baguette from the freshly made bread section…just around the corner from the cheeses…down the isle from the milk products – hence the yoghurt!  In short order all was in hand and it was back to the terminal to find a seat and satisfy my early morning hunger pangs.

I found a spot on a freestanding circular cushioned grouping of seats in the middle of one of the transfer halls.  In the center of the seating arrangement were some lovely planted flowers.  Even though there were passengers hurrying by, this little oasis was just right!

I had broken off a piece of cheese and slipped it in my mouth along with a little of that bread, when I heard a grunting noise.  I looked up and there was a janitor tasked with mopping the floor, and my size 14 shoes were in the spot he was interested in. 

He was a fierce looking fellow somewhere in his mid fifties I supposed,  and probably African.  There are a lot of foreign folk who come to Holland, and the rest of Europe to work.  This fellow was not taking any, “look pal I’m eating my breakfast” nonsense.  He stroked the mop along the floor a couple of times toward my feet and gave me ‘the look!’

I tried to return ‘the look,’ but this fellow meant business, so I lifted my feet as he did a very thorough job cleaning up the spot where my water-ski sized tennis shoes had rested.  I think he might even have cleaned that spot under my feet with a little more care than otherwise…whatever…I just kept those clodhoppers off the ground!!

The fellow sitting a seat or two away from me tried to ignore this man, but the cleaner was having none of it.  When the chubby fellow could no longer ignore the janitor and looked up, he also ‘got the look,’ and moved his cart away while Mr. Clean did his job.

The fellow then went on to do the rest of his assigned area before climbing on an electric cart, mops and brooms sitting in the back, and moving on to his next assignment.

It’s the end of a thing isn’t it?

As he drove by, we glanced at each other.  It was one of those looks that carried just a touch of defiance – on both of our parts.  I then put my right hand to my heart and slightly bowed my head in respect.  The man hesitated for just a second, smiled gently putting his right hand to his heart with a slight bow.

Two men…no words – the grunts and glares don’t count – found a brief moment of humanity and brotherhood.

And so it was... 

“A petite baguette, a chunk of Swiss cheese and a 250 ml bottle of yoghurt milk…yes sir, for a small breakfast, it doesn’t get any better than that!”

- ted