Keith Sonderling, the Secretary of Labor, visited my workplace recently.
The week before his scheduled visit, everyone in the building was in a flurry of preparation. Among the activities were carpet shampooing, pressure washing, painting, and cleaning, along with ordering fancy foods, Perrier, and gorgeous floral displays. It was a whole thing.
And yes the Advil was definitely a big part of the week’s preparation.
Of course, it is a huge honor for a relatively small, family-owned company to host someone so nationally influential in job safety, medical leave, workforce and minimum wage policies–not to mention being 11th in line for the presidency.
Invitations were sent out to the media as well as other politicians, including the North Carolina Secretary of Labor and his team, as well as a congressman and a senator, or two.
One of my favorite things is watching people, and I was in a prime position to watch the proceedings when the secretary’s car arrived, and our welcome team lined up outside the front door. His security people (who had already scoped out the building the day before) came in first and, thankfully, did not deem any of us a security threat. They spoke intently into their lapel mics, and the Secretary and his support team made their entrance.
When he came in, the lobby in front of my desk was already filled with the laughter, conversation, and handshaking of a large group of people with a large amount of influence. I noticed there was one phrase that was spoken over and over to the VIP’s and special guests. It was simply, “Thank you for coming.”
Thank you for coming, indeed. It really was a big day.
I just happened to have a scoop on some insider information. Three hours before the secretary arrived, I was told one of the urinals in the men’s bathroom wasn’t working, and big puddles of water were reappearing even after mopping. There was definitely a mysterious leak somewhere.
Now this was not a major deal for the secretary himself because he would be using a private restroom. (Or “washroom” as the fancy people say. And also, people don’t use the bathroom when they’re in the washroom; they refresh themselves.)
However, the leak was going to be a problem for the other 80-100 people in attendance.
At 8 am, when I got the puddle news (I am the repository for all manner of breaking–and leaking–news in the building), I contacted the building manager, who quickly called the plumber and told him it was urgent. The plumber said they were swamped but would do their best to get there in a couple of hours.
Eeek! A couple of hours was not the answer we were looking for. Leak! Puddle! Water! Secretary! VIPs! Emergency!
A mere twenty minutes before the crowd started to arrive, two plumbers rushed in past my desk and disappeared down the hall into the men’s room. The building manager and I glanced anxiously at our watches and then at each other. Would they find the problem? Would they get it fixed in time? Oh, the suspense.
The people started arriving, and the plumbers had not yet re-emerged. When the Secretary and his assemblage arrived, the plumbers were still hard at work. I knew that it was just a matter of moments before bladders started talking and bladder owners started searching out a restroom.
But finally (oh, wondrous sight), out of the corner of my eye I saw the plumbers emerge from the restroom. They told the building manager they had temporarily fixed the problem and would be back the next day to finish up. The flood had been staunched, the bathroom was usable, and all was right with the world.
As they passed my desk on the way out the door, I said goodbye to them and then, without even thinking, followed that up with, “Thank you for coming.”
It suddenly hit me that I’d just said the same thing to the plumbers that I’d been hearing from the collection of influential people in the lobby. Except, from my perspective, my statement rang a little different because it was not a quickly spoken, quickly forgotten phrase. It was truly from the bottom of my heart.
Thank you for coming.
Thank you for rescuing us from a horde of people who weren’t going to care a whit about charcuterie boards if there wasn’t a usable restroom nearby. And thank you for coming, especially because the very last thing you want to do when hosting the Secretary of Commerce–the person in charge of workplace safety–is to offer a restroom awash in slipping risks and falling hazards.
Plumbers don’t get a lot of glory.
You don’t really think about them until all the toilets go out on Christmas morning with a houseful of relatives. (That once happened to Steve’s mom.) They don’t dress in nice clothes, dine from exotic charcuterie boards, or sip Perrier. They head out to non-glamorous jobs and make a very real difference in people’s comfort, convenience, and safety.
People in government and corporate positions certainly have a vital place in this world, but who do they call when there is a practical job to be done? They call upon a group of wonderful men and women who can solve a thousand problems most of us never even realized existed.
Think about all the times over the years when people have come into our homes and worked on plumbing, HVAC, painting, landscaping, roofs, gutters, lawns, appliance installation, and numerous other things. Those people weren’t influential in regional or national politics, and they weren’t CEOs or leaders of industry. But they came and solved big problems and, in doing so, reminded us that our country is built in part by people who aren’t afraid of a little dirt and a lot of work.
These men and women show up when things get messy and accomplish tasks most of us don’t have the knowledge or ability to do. They are vitally important to all the everyday workings of life.
During that big visit, when those plumbers passed my desk on their way to their next job, no one in the room had any idea what had just been accomplished. But I did.
And I truly, truly meant it when I spoke the words to the heroes of the day, “Thank you for coming.”
What about you?
Have you ever had a problem crop up in the middle of a meal or holiday gathering that you were rescued from?
Do you know someone in the fields of work I mentioned above? Tell us what their job is so the rest of us can honor them, too.
What did you do this past weekend?
