God bless small towns.
There I was after Mass in the smallish Catholic church I attend.
Mrs ERJ volunteered for assorted duties that I am not at liberty to divulge (it is her business).
I sat on one of the over-flow chairs just outside the worship space. I was wearing my cloak-of-invisibility.
One of the "matrons" of the church who is probably close to fifty-five but looks twenty years younger was chatting with Father Dwight. The conversation meandered as conversations between close friends often do. She revealed that she is on the Board of Directors of one of the small, local hospitals.
Do you want to guess what she rhapsodized about? The caliber of the doctors? The profit margin? Grants from the State? High-tech gadgets? Nope, none of the above.
She said she was most consistently impressed with the quality of the Housekeeping Department. Every day. Every hour of the day. Week-after-week. Month-after-month. Housekeeping did whatever it took to not drop the ball.
At one level that might seem disappointing.
On another level it is brilliant. How many Grannies survive the surgery but die in post-op due to secondary infections? What do patients and families see and smell? A mediocre doctor in a dirty environment can be a rock-star in a sparkling environment because he/she knows his/her genius will not be unraveled by entropy.
In my opinion, "matron" gets it. The house will not stand if the foundation is in disrepair.
"Matron" is my hero for the day. I would mention her name but, obviously, I do not have her permission. That is the downside of being a fly-on-the-wall.