COMMISSIONER GALONSKY: "DON'T TIRE OF VOLUNTEERING."

Special to El Rrun-Rrun

When my friend Fausto - who owns a used tire shop en la Southmost- saw the glowing words of admiration that City of Brownsville Commissioner Nurith Galonsky had to say on her Facebook page about someone named Ben del Angel who she said goes around picking up discarded tires from the alleys and ditches throughout the city and voluntarily delivering them to the city landfill, he got an urge to be a conscientious citizen.

Instead of surreptitiously dumping his at night in alleys and  rights-of-way, he decided to follow her advice and do as that nice Mr. Del Angel did.

According to the commish, this Del Angel guy and his mute partner (he is, apparently, the silent type) picked up 85 tires and took them to the landfill Thursday. All he had to do was show his PUB utility bill to show he was a Brownsville resident and that was that.

The poor commissioner, bless her heart, thought Fausto, doesn't know a rim from a tire, but the pictures she posted of her Angel and his silent partner seems to indicate it was tires, not rims, that he hauled to the landfill.

If she knew any better, she'd know that one doesn't throw rims away because they're made out of steel or aluminum and you can sell them to people or at the scrap yard for the metal. But, hey, her heart is in the right place, somewhere in her chest cavity, Fausto figured

So, feeling all warm and fuzzy and brimming with pride at doing his duty as a good citizen, Fausto had Lencho – his assistant and not a mute – load up a trailer full of old tires he

had lying around in his shop and they headed for the dump at the port.

"Ay traes el bill del PUB como te dije?," Fausto asked Lencho as they approached Four Corners.

"Aqui ta," said the not-too-silent Lencho. "Y no te van a cobrar?"

"Nombre, bato. Look at commissioner Nurith's buddy Angel en el Face. He took 85 tires yesterday, but she said rims. Y no dice que le cobraron. He also has a brand new truck. Too bad we didn't wash ours. How did he manage to keep it so clean going through the alleys and ditches? Maybe they'll take a picture of us, too. You got a comb?"

And so the two of them got in the line at the landfill and when they approached the clerk he asked them for the PUB bill and Lencho handed it over to Fausto who handed it to the clerk.

"Cuantas son?," the guy asked.

"Como unas 30, bro" Fausto said. "But we'll be back with another trailer load."

"Ok. You're allowed four for free and the rest will come out to $162."

"What?," Fausto fairly screamed. "But we're volunteering to pick them up and bring them here for nothing because we love our city and we want commissioner Galonsky to take out picture and nominate us for citizen of the week..."

"Pay up or take them back," the clerk said curtly. "And hurry up because you're holding up the line. I don't know nothing about no commissioner."

"But we volunteered for this ," persisted Fausto. "Where's the photographers? Are you guys going to unload them for us, too? Why don't you call the commissioner so we don't have to pay? Angel didn't have to pay, did he? You might be charging a citizen of the week."

"Pay up or I'll call the cops," the clerk said dourly. "Unload them over there at the pile. Hurry up."

And so, disillusioned and dirty from having to unload his tires himself, Fausto drove out of the landfill $162 dollars poorer and his civic enthusiasm – like his wallet – somewhat deflated.

"Are we going to get another 55 like Nurith's Angel?" piped up Lencho as the dust swirled behind them and Fausto was thinking that he was going to have to pay to wash his truck on top of all this. Fausto bit his tongue and bore the indignity.

"You know Lencho, I'm beginning to wish you were like Angel's mute friend and kept you mouth shut."