Last Day

Nate rode through neighborhoods with his face in the breeze all day, five days a week. Sometimes he closed his eyes and pretended he was cruising on a motorcycle through the Blue Ridge Mountains or driving a convertible down the Florida coast. Other times he pretended to be sailing or surfing over the gentle waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

But the stench of trash brought him back to reality in a matter of seconds.

This isn’t what he’d hoped for when he was in high school. His senior picture in the 1995 yearbook included a quote by the Roman poet Virgil, “Fortune sides with him who dares.”

Nate dared.

And now he rides on the back of a garbage truck.

It was a series of poor dares. A few years after high school graduation, he scrounged up enough money to open a baseball card store. His family and friends insisted it was a bad idea. The baseball card industry dried up years before his store opened, but it was Nate’s dream to own a card shop and he knew - he just knew - that the card business would rebound.

Then another dare. Mick, his lifelong friend and classmate, had a way to make easy money. Nate needed money. He was three months behind on his apartment rent, store rent, utilities, car payment - everything. Mick talked Nate into being a mule. He transported drugs from Georgia to Miami every week. Nine hours and forty-five minutes one way every Monday and back home on Tuesday.

It got him out of debt and the card shop became a hobby rather than a source of income.

Then good ole Mick introduced another dare. Things were getting squirrelly on the road. Nate needed a gun. Nate wasn’t a gun guy, but Mick insisted. It was for his own protection, Mick said. So, Nate bought a gun.

He went from one trip to South Florida per week to two. He added Wednesdays and Thursdays to his driving schedule. He ran the card shop on weekends. He dared and he was making a small fortune. Just like Virgil said.

It all came to an end on a clear July night when a Georgia State Patrol officer recognized Nate’s car. Authorities in Florida became aware of Nate’s twice weekly runs and notified Georgia to be on the lookout.

It was bad enough that Nate was transporting a spare tire full of drugs. The loaded gun in the seat next to him made it worse.

After his release from prison, it was impossible to get a job. No one dared take a risk on an ex-con except Mr. Elliott, the owner of Elliott’s Waste Disposal.

The truck stopped at 4502 Lakeside Drive. Lakeside Drive was on the Friday morning route. It was a nice, upper middle class neighborhood. Lots of swing sets in backyards and children’s toys in the driveway. Nate stepped off the truck as it crawled to a stop. He swung 4502’s trashcan around to the back of the truck to dump the contents, but he was careless and a white Hefty bag spilled out of the can and on to the street splitting the bag open and sending trash sliding along the street.

Nate uttered a choice word or two and began picking up dirty napkins, paper plates, and a can of what once contained baked beans. He lifted a flattened Cap’n Crunch box and there in the middle of the street in a quality protective card sleeve was a 1970 Topps Nolan Ryan #172. How it ended up in a kitchen garbage bag, Nate didn’t know. And he didn’t care.

It was gold.

Nate pulled up a baseball card website on his phone during his lunch break. The last 1970 Topps Nolan Ryan #172 card sold for $132,000.

It was his last day as a garbage man.