Jatinda walked in.
It was his ninetieth delivery of the day. Nine-zero. Eighty-nine times already today he’s pulled up outside, jumped down from his can, bounded up the path and rung the bell. Now it’s number ninety.
Is that right? Ninety.
He’s been at it since six o’clock this morning, and the day is getting old. This is not a glamorous job. It’s hot on an already hot day. It’s sweaty and dirty. There’s the traffic and the delays and the closed doors.
And he’s beaming.
Happy to be here.
Excited and motivated and working hard and fast. Will I hold the door for him? Can I help with the heavy packages?
I want to.
I want to catch his energy.
“The other guys, they take eighty or ninety packages. I take a hundred and twenty, a hundred and fifty. Hard work makes me happy.”
Skippy strategy: Work hard, be happy.
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