Job Satisfaction

I sorted donated goods in the basement of the Thrift Store with another volunteer for a couple hours on Saturday. 

This volunteer––I'll call him Chuck (not his real name)–– lives with "severe and persistent mental illness" (an umbrella phrase I only recently learned). The store attracts an awesome mix of volunteers---I'll often be working alongside someone with mental illness, someone in their 80s who might have been one of the original members of the store, someone who is getting their life going again after serving time in prison, or someone like me, someone who's just a little bit lonely and loves playing with junk!

Anyway, Chuck asked if I minded the radio.
I said no, and he turned it to a classic rock station.

I say I don't care much about music, but every night in high school, I went to bed with my little blue transistor radio by my pillow, tuned to the hit rock-pop station, and I have a massive repertoire of songs, all passively acquired while falling asleep: the Eagles, Fleetwood Mack, the Steve Miller Band, ABBA, Elton John, and, of course, Queen.

Soon I was humming along in the basement. "Bohemian Rhapsody" came on, and I started to sing. 
Chuck joined in, and together we sang every word. 

Sometimes I get frustrated with the Thrift Store, because the management is so dysfunctional, the place is rather like a ship with no one at the helm. But there sure are great folks below decks.