Mikey P
Administrator
and using this story which some of you will recall from 2006
The original contained some unfortunate verbiage and descriptions that I no longer in my vocabulary so I asked Chat GPT to clean in up and turn it into a TM speech...What do you think?
Title: A Van, A Hose, and a Hero
Mr. Toastmaster, fellow members, and guests,
Some days in this line of work, you just clean carpets. Other days... you run damage control for a man in a motorized wheelchair, bury broken pottery, and jam a tracheotomy tube back into someone's throat. And somehow, that turns out to be one of the most meaningful days of your life.
It all started with a routine follow-up job. My helper had cleaned a home two weeks prior while I was away. The homeowner—a man with Parkinson's—had an unfortunate incident involving a leaking catheter bag. His wife scheduled us to come clean the affected areas. She wouldn’t be home, but her husband would let us in.
The drive was long, winding, and frankly, brutal. I joked to myself that I was going to charge more just for the drive alone. But I wasn’t ready for what came next.
We knocked on the door and were met by a surreal sound: a cross between a tomcat in heat and a wheezing bagpipe. Somehow, buried in that noise, we heard, "Come in."
Behind the door stood a man—mid-50s, trach tube in his throat, pants half-down, limbs contorted by disease—but eyes bright and fully present. He smiled and led us, somehow climbing stairs, to show us where the incident had occurred. He even joked, "Good news!" when I told him I couldn’t smell anything.
we completed the small task and as we packed up, I struck up a conversation. His speech was mostly incomprehensible, but he tried. He got excited. Too excited. And in one sudden move, yanked his tracheotomy tube out.
Now, I've done a lot in my career. But calmly stepping in to reinsert a trach tube? That was a first. And one I won't soon forget.
Once he recovered, he was eager to show us his prized possession: a high-tech van his wealthy friends had gifted him. But the van wouldn't open. Frustrated, he sped off in his advanced wheelchair to retrieve the key.
Out of our sight, we heard a CRASH/BANG BOOM. Pots. Driftwood. Soil. Terra cotta shrapnel everywhere. He was covered head to tow, as was the wood U shaped wheelchair ramp
We rushed over to find him tipped in a bush, laughing. "My wife is going to kill me!" he mumbled. We were all in tears from laughing and worry.
He insisted on trying again and rolled inside while we cleaned up the mess.
Moments later—CRASH again. This time inside. He'd tipped his chair into a display shelf filled with family heirlooms.
I begged him to rest. He refused. And tripped.
He lay there, crying. We helped him up, fixed what we could, and I made a decision.
"Tell your wife we knocked the plants and shelf over. No charge today."
He looked at me with tears in his eyes: "You guys are the best."
Turns out, the van key wasn’t where he thought it was—he’d been sitting on it the whole time.
As we prepared to leave, he asked us to sweep up the debris outside better. Turns out he wasn't even allowed outside—last time he fell and severely burned himself on hot pavement.
Before we left, he shared that he had built his house—and ten others—by hand, before Parkinson's took over. He added, almost casually, that his throat cancer came from being treated with radiation for colic as a baby.
That day I went in expecting to clean carpets. I left having cleaned up something much more sacred: human dignity.
Ladies and gentlemen, we all sign up for a "job." But some days, God hands you a mission.
And sometimes, the best payment isn’t in dollars—it’s in being told, in the most broken voice imaginable, "You guys are the best."
Thank you.
The original contained some unfortunate verbiage and descriptions that I no longer in my vocabulary so I asked Chat GPT to clean in up and turn it into a TM speech...What do you think?
Title: A Van, A Hose, and a Hero
Mr. Toastmaster, fellow members, and guests,
Some days in this line of work, you just clean carpets. Other days... you run damage control for a man in a motorized wheelchair, bury broken pottery, and jam a tracheotomy tube back into someone's throat. And somehow, that turns out to be one of the most meaningful days of your life.
It all started with a routine follow-up job. My helper had cleaned a home two weeks prior while I was away. The homeowner—a man with Parkinson's—had an unfortunate incident involving a leaking catheter bag. His wife scheduled us to come clean the affected areas. She wouldn’t be home, but her husband would let us in.
The drive was long, winding, and frankly, brutal. I joked to myself that I was going to charge more just for the drive alone. But I wasn’t ready for what came next.
We knocked on the door and were met by a surreal sound: a cross between a tomcat in heat and a wheezing bagpipe. Somehow, buried in that noise, we heard, "Come in."
Behind the door stood a man—mid-50s, trach tube in his throat, pants half-down, limbs contorted by disease—but eyes bright and fully present. He smiled and led us, somehow climbing stairs, to show us where the incident had occurred. He even joked, "Good news!" when I told him I couldn’t smell anything.
we completed the small task and as we packed up, I struck up a conversation. His speech was mostly incomprehensible, but he tried. He got excited. Too excited. And in one sudden move, yanked his tracheotomy tube out.
Now, I've done a lot in my career. But calmly stepping in to reinsert a trach tube? That was a first. And one I won't soon forget.
Once he recovered, he was eager to show us his prized possession: a high-tech van his wealthy friends had gifted him. But the van wouldn't open. Frustrated, he sped off in his advanced wheelchair to retrieve the key.
Out of our sight, we heard a CRASH/BANG BOOM. Pots. Driftwood. Soil. Terra cotta shrapnel everywhere. He was covered head to tow, as was the wood U shaped wheelchair ramp
We rushed over to find him tipped in a bush, laughing. "My wife is going to kill me!" he mumbled. We were all in tears from laughing and worry.
He insisted on trying again and rolled inside while we cleaned up the mess.
Moments later—CRASH again. This time inside. He'd tipped his chair into a display shelf filled with family heirlooms.
I begged him to rest. He refused. And tripped.
He lay there, crying. We helped him up, fixed what we could, and I made a decision.
"Tell your wife we knocked the plants and shelf over. No charge today."
He looked at me with tears in his eyes: "You guys are the best."
Turns out, the van key wasn’t where he thought it was—he’d been sitting on it the whole time.
As we prepared to leave, he asked us to sweep up the debris outside better. Turns out he wasn't even allowed outside—last time he fell and severely burned himself on hot pavement.
Before we left, he shared that he had built his house—and ten others—by hand, before Parkinson's took over. He added, almost casually, that his throat cancer came from being treated with radiation for colic as a baby.
That day I went in expecting to clean carpets. I left having cleaned up something much more sacred: human dignity.
Ladies and gentlemen, we all sign up for a "job." But some days, God hands you a mission.
And sometimes, the best payment isn’t in dollars—it’s in being told, in the most broken voice imaginable, "You guys are the best."
Thank you.
Yes, it’s the perfect length for a 5–7 minute Toastmasters speech, especially when you:
