So this morning as I was leaving for work, the city was sweeping up the leaves in the street. Before the actual cleaner truck comes through, a truck with a big basket-type scraper on front goes down the street and piles the leaves up in the gutter. If that truck gets too far ahead of the cleaner truck, it pauses to let the other guy catch up.
I'm standing on the cross-street scraping the frost off my car windows, and the scraper truck stops in front of my house, and the driver gets out. And it turns out the driver is a woman younger than me, who also looks to be several inches taller than me, and maybe 130 pounds. And rather than a construction guy outfit, she's wearing jeans that are so low they're almost hip-huggers and a clingy t-shirt that barely meets the top of the jeans. She checks something on the basket in front and then ambles back to the door, staring down the street for the cleaner truck.
But then, rather than getting back in the cab, she grabs the bar that's mounted on the truck side behind the door. I thought that, once again, she was checking something on it. But no: she put one foot up on the side of the truck and then hung off the side with her other leg stretched out, exposing a big part of her stomach and lower back (now, not only is there frost on all the cars, but it's snowing), and swayed just her hips slowly from side to side like she was doing the start of a pole-dancing routine. I half-expected a camera crew to be off to the side, and that a guy in a leisure suit was about to walk out of one of the houses and say, "So...do you also clean...carpets? Because my wife could use a little...help...with hers," as *bamp chicka bamp bamp* music suddenly floated down the street.