My brother in law, a footballer, gave up a decent job to become a garbologist, much to mum's horror. 'Can't you just say you
work for the council', I remember her saying.
That's when I got to remind mum that he was doing it because my sister was ill and the hours were perfect and he was popular
on the job because he did most of the running and loved it.
It is well paid and he was doing an honest, difficult job for the sake of someone he loved.
Everyone fell silent.
Told me the story of how Sis got a fur jacket. He thought some 'bloody mongrel' as he put it, had put the body of a dead dog
in the bin. It was a posh area and heaven forbid it was a fabulous perfect jacket.
He did some other part time work as well and his neighbour who then worked in a bank wanted to know how and why he
seemed to be doing OK. He later also became a garbologist.
