Unsung hero

It takes him 3 times longer to tie these shoes. His black leather Doc Martens lace up all the way to his knee. They’re well worn and just the perfect amount of dirty. On his head, a black bandana attempts to hide a receding hairline, once a fountain of luscious locks. His pants match his boots and offer odd points of ventilation, these rips are well earned; he may have been in a mosh pit or two. Wrapped in smooth studded leather noir, he goes to work. This is the hardest part of his day, leaving Misha and Molly…his two cats. 

Within moments of entering the door, this vampire transforms into a modern day pirate. Donned in a fresh apron, he begins his work at the back of a dingy old pub. Always the first order of business, he puts on a particular playlist filled with the delightful tunes of Iron Maiden, Rammstein and Korn. The dishes are piled up high and the washer appears to be broken. What frustrates the others, intrigues him. He loves a challenge, and so he begins taking apart the wicked beast. Handling each piece with a tenderness not unlike holding a newborn babe, he searches for the answer. 

Cooks and servers demanding clean plates, overflowing buckets of dirty utensils and ramekins, and splashes of food infested water try to break his concentration. But this is not his first rodeo. Calloused hands work wonders with eyes closed and ears open. He knows her inner workings, her weak points and her strengths; he navigates by memory. Deep underneath the mothership, a blockage is found. He pulls out the disobedient pipe, and using the hose, he clears the residue. She is free. 

He stands back, hands on hips, the feeling of victory washing over him as the dishes begin to clean. New sweat on his brow disappears into the worn-out bandana. That rag has seen many a conquests in this modest dish pit. 

They call him the Dishwasher Whisperer. He calls it work. I call him an unsung hero.