1,000,000 Mile Reset

Last Friday I learned an interesting thing. Actually, the lesson was not learned until Monday, but the event that sparked the thing happened on Friday. The lesson is one of those that you never want to learn or ever pursue the answer for. You have to just learn it the hard way.

The lead dispatcher on the other end of the phone, I asked the only question that had been left unanswered the entire weekend. I wanted to know if I was going to lose my job for what had happened.

It was a good question. You cannot just lay a 40-ton machine on its side and keep your job. That is, unless you were a statistic.

"Never even entered my mind, Barry."

That was what he told me. Now, I have one hell of a rapport with my company. I am still the #1 driver over nearly 200 others. I drive further, better and more consistently than any other guy in the company. I have nicknames that reflect my status and the stories of my seemingly insane deeds float around the circles of conversation on a regular basis. Those facts might have helped me, but they were certainly not the deciding factor.

"Some companies give out awards to guys with a million or two million miles without an accident. Not us. Here, we say, 'This mother fucker's due.'"

I was due. That was all it was. Sure, there were some issues that came up mechanically. Yes, I was at the end of my prescribed 11-hour driving time and I was a bit tired; I was awake, but tired. The moon was full and that does things to people. You can try to throw in all the why's and wherefores that make an accident make sense, but it really came down to a statistical answer: You cannot drive for years and rack up millions of miles without having your number pulled eventually. Just like dice, you roll them until you lose. I lost. I dumped a truck like I was center screen in a Terminator movie. There were noises and dust and flying metal and flying french fries and me trapped in my seat belt like a fly waiting for the returning spider. But it all came down to a flick of the wrist and a pair of snake eyes when the dice hit the velvet. A statistic.

Fortunately, I was not killed. Hell, I was barely injured. I walked out of the truck like I had just parked it too fast; a little giddy and high-strung, but none the worse for wear. I have some nice bruises from the seat belt and I later got myself one hell of a sunburn while the rescue crews removed my fallen rig. (Fourteen hours in the Nevada sun with a bald head - not a pretty picture.)

It's kind of funny how people rationalize things. My first thought when I got to my feet was that this was going to require some explaining. I thought the explanations would take days and that people - experts - might even be brought in to determine exact causes of things. I have worked for companies that do things like that; fortunately, this is not one of those companies.

When you run hard you have to expect some setbacks. You have to keep in mind that this is not a job for the simple and less-than-dedicated driver. The trucking industry loses more people every year than any other industry. Sure, we're further down on the list percentage-wise, but we number well into the tens of millions. They may have us on the percentages, but we have the higher numbers. This job is not one for the weak of fortitude. It seems easy: pointing an over-sized car down the road and getting paid for it. But there are so many factors that people do not remember. That is why those dummies cut us off in traffic and dive across three lanes to hit an exit ramp just off the nose of tractor-trailer. They are ignorant.

Anyway, it's been one hell of a week. I have a new truck, just like the one I wrecked - also a perk of being the #1 guy. I hope that my luck will stand and that I can get over a million miles more before something like this happens again. Fortunately, I won't hit another million before I hang it up for good. But I just hope the luck holds.

Take care; and be good to one another.

Here's a look at my little accident:

On Cowardice

I have always prided myself on having courage. Like many boys, it took me years to start standing up for myself. I got pushed around many times in school. One day, I pushed back. Now, I do the pushing.

No, I'm not a bully. Not in the everyday sense at least. I am pushy, though. When we moved into our current place, I pushed the landlord around until I got what I wanted. I got a phone line put in. I got cable run in. I even got a fence built. Most of it wasn't his responsibility. But my backbone just happened to be thicker than his, so he did what I asked.

Being this way, I despise people who lack courage or even a general sense of standing up to another.

I was recently attacked by someone who misconstrued something I had written. When I had explained the basis of my writing and that he had been wrong to accuse me, he didn't even acknowledge it. Then, in an unrelated incident, he had some other writing of mine removed because someone else took it the wrong way. Is it my fault that people are sensitive? Should I change my outlook to suit weaker versions of men?

After these two incidents, I sought conference with this man. Both through email and telephonically. No response. Why? Because he's a fucking coward. He read my email and knew he couldn't compete. Why not, doctor? All that education left you with zero ability to have a verbal row with a lowly truck driver? I find the irony here just aglow. You can put all the letters you want behind your name; and maybe that makes you somebody. But you'll never forget the time a gear-jamming asshole out-smarted and out-reasoned you multiple times in one day. You'll also never forget the dick-shrivelling feeling that such knowledge gave you. You're not a man. You're just a fucking chump.

You're my bitch now, mother fucker.

Been quite a while...

Okay, so I haven't written in quite some time. In fact, this is my first posting for this year. There has been little outcry from what I can see on the news, so I guess everyone did alright without my gibberish.

I have had a lot of things going on lately; most of it I cannot talk about just yet. Certain people deserve the right to know before I post it on an open forum such as this.

However, I will try to throw a few things up occasionally to try to quench your insatiable thirst for horse shit.

Anyway, I was watching a clip on CNN today about that girl who hit the toll booth in southern California a few years back. Unless you've been sleeping under a rock for a while, you have seen the horrific pictures on the internet. Her parents, it seems, want them all taken down and have hired a lawyer to help get it done. Fine, great. I can understand where they are coming from.

What I have a problem with, however, is the fact that they're allowing the news to re-exploit this entire ordeal. Those pictures have been up forever and everyone has seen them. In fact, most people have, if not forgotten about them, at least let them die away. The parents should be pleased that their little girl is no longer plastered all over the internet on a daily basis. What did they think was going to happen when they took this story public? I guarantee that most of the sites that cater to that sort of entertainment will be more than happy to repost them on their front pages. Why not? Every time somebody that hasn't seen them punches that girl's name into Google, their site might get a hit from it.

I suppose some people just don't have the foresight that I have.

Takes One to Know One

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Thanksgiving, and leading up to it

Every year I spend Thanksgiving away from home. This isn't completely by choice, although it ultimately comes down to just that. You see, trucking is one of those non-stop businesses. While most companies can shut down for the day, or even for the four-day weekend, freight still has to move; because, when Monday comes around, all those people who were off work for the holiday need something to do.

There is an unspoken rule at my company: pick one. It's either Thanksgiving off or Christmas off. We have a choice. Now, you can try taking both off, but it usually means that you get home late for Christmas. I like to safe-side it and leave out mid-October. Then I stay out until Christmas comes around and I have all the leverage in the world to tell my dispatchers that I want to go home for Christmas. They can't really deny me when I've been such a hard worker for the past, what, ten weeks straight? It kinda sucks, but it's usually worth it.

Most of the time I can guarantee that, on Christmas day or the day after, I get the flu. It comes with a combination of being too stubborn to pay twenty bucks to get a flu shot and the fact that, being alone in my truck for weeks at a time, I'm like an Indian with an armful of Anthrax blankets and a few yellow fever handshakes. I just lose my tolerance for sicknesses.

This year, though, I caught a lucky (sic) break. I got the flu yesterday. It means that I won't have to worry about being sick while I'm home, but, regardless of where you are, having the flu sucks.

I felt it coming on around noon or so, when I went inside for an emergency bathroom break and evacuated sickly-smelling water. Uh oh, that smells like flu shit.

About two hours later, I was at a truck stop in full flu mode. Chills, body aches, nausea and, of course, more diarrhea. My first intuition (which I always tell my wife to go with) was to call my company and get approval to stay in a hotel. I didn't, though. It just seemed like too much work at that point. So I evacuated one more time, bought a couple bottles of 7UP and bundled up under my covers to sleep it off. If I can offer one bit of advice concerning the flu: sleep it off.

I awoke a bit later (I'm not sure how long it was), after dreaming that I had farted. Now, this is not a good situation to be in when one has the flu. So I did a quick check - one finger to the back of the pants, which I call "checking the muzzle heat" - and discovered that I had just shit my pants. So I did the only thing a person can do in this situation. I stood up, dropped my pants and shorts and used paper towels to wipe off my shame. I grabbed a new pair of drawers and a pair of sweat shorts, bagged up my paper towels and soiled clothing, and went back to sleep.

I woke up again after about four total hours of being in bed and ventured inside the truck stop. I went to the bathroom to prevent having to change clothes again, bought some water and another 7UP, and went back outside. I called my lovely wife, who was absolutely thrilled that I had shat myself, and then went back to sleep.

I woke up about thirteen hours later feeling much better; a little weak, but better. I had another scare when I sneezed and blew a very fast and big fart, but another muzzle heat check proved negative.

Thanksgiving day itself has been okay. I drove a bit today, but felt a bit depressed. My wife and kids were cooking up turkey and I wasn't there. My father was doing the same, feeling a bit down because he had nobody to host turkey dinner for. It stinks how, as we get older and move away, that we have to remember the past and how precious it really was.

I know that Christmas will be better. Even though my dad won't be able to see the kids this year, we'll send him photos and videos so that he can get some enjoyment out of it. Maybe, someday, we can all be together for the holidays. All of them. Until then, we just have to be content with our own calamities.

Flight Gear

I have always been a fan of flying. As a child, I lived pretty close to all my relatives and never got the chance to take that thrilling childhood flight.

When I went to the army, though, I had to fly to my first duty station for Basic Training. So not only was I in for a lot of excitement with joining the military, I also got to take my first flight. I remember sitting on that plane from Pittsburgh to Atlanta and trying hard not to grin from ear to ear like an eight-year-old boy. But I just couldn't help it.

All these years later I would be hard-pressed to remember every single commercial, military or even helicopter flight that I took. Even today, though, I still get that little childlike thrill when the engines spool up and I start rocketing down the runway.

Since I don't have a lot of opportunities to fly these days what with work and lack of places to go on a plane, I decided to look into the narrow world of flight simulators. If I can't fly all the time for real, I might as well do it from my laptop.

I have already explained that I am not a big fan of paying for things. So the Microsoft side of this venture really didn't enter my possibilities. Once again, however, Google saved the day and found a free flight simulator called Flight Gear.

Flight Gear is an open-source program that you can download from the web. Free of charge. You can even download different aircraft and maps. I fly Boeing 787s, single-engine Cessnas and even a fully-stocked A-10 Warthog that gives one chills when the 30mm gun belches out its death-dealing wall of lead. Fucking incredible.

I have been playing this for a couple months now and it never gets old. I'm quite proficient with it now and, if the need ever arises, I feel pretty confident that I could get a real plane off the ground. Landing it, well, might be a problem. I still don't have that part down fully. I usually overshoot the runway and end up landing in the adjacent field. But I'm fucking bad-ass when it comes to taking off.

Try it out if you have the time and want to fly. Like I said, it's free. I'm not being paid to write this or anything. I just love it and felt like sharing.

Waiting

There are few things in life that are as annoying as forced waiting. Driving a truck and hauling produce makes this a double whammy. Add the fact that produce growers and shippers in Yuma, Arizona have trouble keeping labor (all the illegal immigrants don't want to be so close to the border they just crossed), and you have a real mess.

First of all, there is rarely a time when you only have one place from which to pick up. It's usually two or three.

Then there's the issue of appointments. Nobody shipping fresh bulk produce will give an appointment even a day before the load is supposed to ship. It has to be day-of. One appointment might be at ten in the morning. Your second pick is eight at night.

Now, the first pick won't have their product ready until seven in the evening. Then they take three hours to load you and the second pick closes before you can get their product. Guess what. Now you have to get an appointment for the next day. Now you're a day behind on a load that really should be on a rocket ship in order to get there on time.

So you finally get loaded and off you go. You have to monitor the temperature as you go and your dispatcher calls or sends a message several times a day wanting an ETA to the receiver.

When you get to the receiver you find out that they're backed up and won't be able to unload you for several hours. So now your trailer is a storage facility.

Oh, and if your temperature is off - even if it's because the shipper didn't cool the product properly - the load is rejected. So now you have to wait until your dispatcher can find some shady asshole to buy the product to resell to Asian food stores and food kitchens.

Ah, a day in the life of a reefer hauler. Fucking grand, wouldn't you say? So the least you can do is eat your fucking fruits and vegetables. Because some poor fuck just got paid way too much money to bust his ass to bring it to you.