Bernard lived to work. Over the holidays, he never stopped going into the office, even though his employees had two weeks off. He considered them soft.
“Who’s there?” he said, looking up from his desk.
A small woman appeared at his door.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said with a heavy accent. “I am here for your trash.”
“Okay. Come in.”
She hurried across the room and quietly emptied his small, brass trash can.
“You work on Christmas Day?” Bernard said.
“Yes. I work every day.”
Lying in bed that night, Bernard wondered if, unlike him, the woman had a family.
“Who’s there?” he said, looking up from his desk.
A small woman appeared at his door.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said with a heavy accent. “I am here for your trash.”
“Okay. Come in.”
She hurried across the room and quietly emptied his small, brass trash can.
“You work on Christmas Day?” Bernard said.
“Yes. I work every day.”
Lying in bed that night, Bernard wondered if, unlike him, the woman had a family.
