Little Timmy has been called a lot of things in his short life, but an ingrate isn't one of them. That's why every time he fills up another crate of turnips, beans or pumpkinellos, he says thank you to the man he thinks of as Uncle Newt. Often, when the Master Picker is grumpy, Timmy says these words to himself, but on other happy days he dares to speak them right out loud.
You see, for Little Timmy picking isn't just a job, it's a shiny new nickel. And not just a nickel per day, mind you, a nickel for each crate of produce that he fills [Offer void on watermelons].
In truth, Little Timmy will never grow rich off his picking skills (not even when he graduates to Junior Picker Class C) and neither will his mother, although she no doubt appreciates the assistance that her little man provides. The important thing, however, is the experience that he's gaining. By the time other children his age are preparing to enter junior high, Little Timmy will already have something that they may never acquire - a career. And Newt Gingrich is the man who made that possible.
Newt had an idea. It was not a grand proposal like so many he had pitched in the past, no, it was a rather small idea in Newtonian terms, a plan that would have only helped a few children who were lucky enough to be impoverished in urban schools with unionized maintenance staffs. But from tiny acorns mighty oaks do grow, and the utility of Newt's idea grew like that mighty oak only a heck of a lot quicker. There are so many problems that little laborers can ameliorate!
Currently, Little Timmy is well on his way to replacing the sort of illegal migrant workers who like nothing better than to take the sort of jobs Americans don't want anymore because they have adopted the irrational belief that something better is bound to come along. Little Timmy does not share this illusion, because let's face it, he's already been picking for a long time, and has never participated in the educational system or had an opportunity to socialize with his peers (although these can hardly be called disadvantages to a lad fortunate to have Master Picker as his destiny!)
"Thank you, Uncle Newt," Little Timmy says upon filling his twelfth crate of pumpkinellos. He checks the position of the sun in the sky and smiles broadly, for he knows that it's time now for a smoke break.
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