Benton was on the other side of a big desk and half-rose to his feet when Myrtle came in. “Miss Myrtle. You have a problem with your garbage collection? What can I do for you?” His politician face was on, although his smile was lost somewhere in his puffy jowls.
“Ah...yes. The truck used to come at 8:00 and now it comes at 7:00. I have to try to beat the truck every Tuesday and it’s—exhausting.”
Benton paused to puff a few times on his cigar. “Why not just set out your dumpster the evening before, Miss Myrtle? That way you don’t have to rush around in the morning.”
Myrtle beamed at him as if he were a star pupil. “What a wonderful idea, Benton! Yes, that’s just what I’ll do. I’ll roll out the bin Monday night.” She shook her head admiringly. “You certainly do have your thinking cap on.
