Before I retired from the Newspaper, I was Home Delivery Manager for our Circulation Department. Once in a while we felt it necessary for upper management to meet and greet our carriers early in the morning when they pick up their papers at the various drop off spots at strip malls throughout the area. The first carrier I went over to shook my hand and then asked,"wadda ya want?" I said, " I just wanted to come out and thank you for all your hard work. How are you doing?" He spent the next ten minutes telling me how awful the job was etc. and I left him thinking, "gee, why does he keep coming out and picking these papers up?" I went on and met other carriers from all sorts of backgrounds but when I got home, I thought about them all and wrote this little poem below. They may be grumpy but they were a warm, conscientious and dedicated group of people and without them my paper wouldn't be there every morning for me to pick up and read. Maybe one morning, I'll get up around 1:30 in the morning and go out and see if that old man is still there. Nah, I don't think so. LOL.

Wadda ya want?
by Michael Shannon
Wish I could tell you, wish I could tell you what I am feeling like today
Feels like its time to go to bed but instead its time to face the day
Tell them I ain’t ready, tell them to please just go away
Ain’t no way that I am ready, I don’t want to face the day
Rise up early in the morning and I find my way to the car
Got to keep my eyes wide open, my job is not too far
Wish I could tell you that I loved this job, and how it’s such a pleasure
But often all I do is watch the clock and minutes and hours measure
I throw papers every morning while half the world is fast asleep
Then some guy gives me a check that I wish I could tell him to keep
But those sleepy pampered people lying sleeping in their beds
They just have to have their paper or else they’ll have my head
Some just come out and pick it up from wherever it does land
Others think for their 50 cents it should be placed into their hand
Young people walk out and pick it up and so do most of those older
But then there is the occasional one whose demands are slightly bolder
“The world owes me for growing old”, they look at you and glower,
“Put the paper on the porch, on the chair and don’t let it touch my flower!”
Well I am getting older too and I wish I was less grumpy as each day
Slaps me in the face each morn and the alarm says, “get on your way!”