It’s 9:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. Where are the good people of Great Neck?
Two cars remain idle in two-car driveways. Dog walkers and strollers are conspicuously absent. It is oddly possible to walk for several blocks without seeing a single soul except for the Amazon Prime delivery man.
The Amazon Man is a frequent fixture on village streets. The unsung hero.
Around the corner, landscapers are blowing in full force with or without their required masks. Buzzing, blasting, blaring sounds erase the otherwise eerie calm. And suddenly I hear the familiar sound of the Village of Great Neck sanitation truck.
It’s 10:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. Where are the good people of Great Neck?
They are hiding in their homes hoping to stay safe. And the sanitation truck inches closer towards my house.
I breathe a sigh of relief for the familiar and irritating sound of the truck as it screeches to a dead halt. It is strangely comforting to glimpse the familiar sight of sanitation workers clad in Shasta-inspired orange sweatshirts accompanied by the dilapidated evergreen sanitation truck.
The dedicated men and women who work for the Department of Public Works, Village Hall, Postal Service, grocery stores, health services, ambulance, fire and law enforcement represent but some of the essential workers.
These folks do not have the luxury of hiding at home. Let’s think of them for a moment and give thanks for their loyalty and hard work.
It’s 11:00 a.m. on a Monday morning. Where are the good people of Great Neck?
We are uniting spiritually, albeit silently, house by house, block by block, bonding in our desire for this virulent enemy to leave our midst.
Until then, we wash our hands and we wait.
Judy Shore Rosenthal
Great Neck
