Some people will tell you it's just a dumpster.
I grew up in DFW, then spent fifteen years in the Marine Corps traveling the world. When it came time to retire I came back — specifically to Argyle, for the small-town feel, the schools for my kids, and a place that's grown a lot without losing either one.
The Marines teach standards through details. Sharp uniform. Clean weapon. A vehicle washed and maintained, because the state of a man's equipment tells you whether he pays attention to anything else. None of it wins a fight by itself. All of it tells you who you're dealing with.
So I came home to a county under constant construction and kept noticing the same thing: rusted-out containers sitting on job sites and behind warehouses, overflowing, trash blowing across the lot. Some people will tell you it's just a dumpster. Maybe. But your crew notices. Your neighbors notice. The client walking the job notices.
So that's the job we took on. For the week it's there, that container sits in your driveway or out front of your client, and it's part of how the work looks — so we treat it like it is. Even the trash ought to look like somebody's paying attention. We stay small on purpose, because noticing the small things is the first thing a company loses when it gets big. — Jake C.
