'Thank you for the work that you do'

  • Published
  • By Cynthia Minnick
  • Secretary of the Air Force Office of Public Affairs
WASHINGTON (AFPN) --  Morning commutes in the nation's capital are not typically a pleasant experience. Those of us who use public transportation contend with the daily routine of riding buses, commuter trains, or our rail system, called the Metro.

Most people who ride the Metro don't bother to talk or look at each other. Newspapers, books and portable music devices are often whipped out by a rider as soon as he or she sits down; small attempts to build little shields of privacy in a public place.

I usually get up from my seat just before arrival at the Pentagon station. Just like every other stop, there is an announcement from the train operator, "Next stop, Pentagon. Doors opening on the left." Nothing special in any of it. Nothing personal in any of it. Typical daily grind.

Like many people, I sometimes think, "What am I doing this for?" Some days I am uncertain. But every once in awhile, there are mornings where I am absolutely sure of why I continue to be part of America's defense team. And that surety comes from a few simple words; spoken by a man I do not know and have never seen.

You see, every once in awhile I am fortunate to catch a train with a unique operator at the helm. Like all the other operators, he is very professional and a model Metro employee when he announces, "Next stop, Pentagon. Doors opening on the left." But it's the next few words he speaks that make me think he is really someone special. As the doors open and we all begin to exit the train, he says, quite simply and sincerely, "Thank you for the work that you do."

I don't know about anyone else, but as I come into the Pentagon after hearing his words, it doesn't bother me that I have to walk through security checkpoints, past men with machine guns and other assorted military hardware. It doesn't bother me that I have an escape mask at my desk, in case of chemical or biological attack. I don't even mind that I've long abandoned fashionable high-heels in favor of sensible shoes (easier to run in, if necessary). None of that matters because he has reminded me again why I continue to do what I do for a living.

I serve on this defense team for him, the unknown train operator. And for the waitress who smiles despite her aching back. And for the gap-toothed kid who looks to the skies and dreams of flying someday. To be honest, I'm even doing it for the young woman who came to D.C. from an Ivy League school using her daddy's platinum credit card, so she could protest the war. I'm doing it for all the people in this country who I'll never meet and will never know. I serve for them.

If I ever get a chance, I'm going to meet that Metro man one day. I'm going to shake his hand and tell him how much his words mean. And I'm going to tell him that he is a fine train operator and express my appreciation to him for a job well done. After all, everyone likes to be thanked for the work that they do.