Truckers are oftentimes squeezed between the proverbial "rock and a hard place". On one hand, there is the pressure to deliver the load on time, and the desire to remain compliant and drive the freight legally. On the other hand, you have
your bosses, managers, and dispatchers saying, "You had two days to get it there, why are you running late"?
Wintertime driving opens up the Pandora's box of delays and connundrums. The rule, "Snow, drive slow. Ice, no dice" applies here. One driver recently told me that after getting into the thick of the snow storms out West, that he had no choice but to hold his speed down to 15 miles per hour. So, he managed to drive a whopping 60 miles in four hours. That now translates to four hours out of your 11 hours of federally mandated driving time. So, now the driver has a dilemma.
Should driver "log by mileage", or "log it as you do it". If you "log by mileage", it is legal, ON PAPER. The DOT won't harrass you and they send you on your way. On the other hand, if you drive strictly by the RULES, you will be very late for your delivery or pick-up, and trust me when I tell you this....Your bosses/managers/dispatch, will NOT be giving you an "Atta boy", or "Good job, ladytrucker" when you drive COMPLIANT.
If you feel the roads are too treacherous to traverse, and you inform your bosses/managers/dispatch that you feel it is unsafe to continue, you will get the standard reply, "Well, the OTHER drivers aren't 'complaining' ".
Now, YOU are the one out there. YOU are the one who sees with your own eyes the devastation out on the snowy roadways. YOU saw experienced drivers on their side in the ditch, jack-knifed, rolled over, rear ended into another vehicle. Yes, WE are the professional drivers, but we are surrounded by many other drivers who cause the wrecks in that type of weather. Funny, how we are considered professionals, but regarded by many as though we are a bunch of unskilled "dumb-asses".
Yup, we are between the rock and the hard place.
I worked for one of the top five freight carriers in the US for five and one half years. My terminal was in New Jersey, which was also the State I called 'home'. New Jersey had a rough couple of Winters back in 1993/1994. We barely got dug out, and our boots never got dry, before we got slammed with another snow storm. On this day in particular, the weather report was warning of 33 inches of snow. Big fat, fluffy flakes, in copious quantities, started falling early in the day. A few inches has already accumulated, and it was the kind of snow that stuck. The salt trucks were already out, frantically trying to keep the major highways clean, and a few hours later, I began my usual one hour drive to work.
One and a half hours later, I was halfway there. Being that I did not have a cel phone in 2003, I stopped at a pizzaria along the way, and while standing outside, freezing my butt off, I fumbled for the change to use the payphone. I called my boss. The conversation went along these lines, "Hey Karl, I'm fishtailing all over the place in my pick up truck. I'm having a helluva time getting into work. They're calling for another 29 inches of snow. I don't think it's safe to take a T/T out in this mess, if I can't even make it into work". His reply was a firm and emphatic, "Get in here! We have drivers who are already on their way delivering, and more going out."
OK. Told boss I was on my way, but didn't know how long it would take to get there. Another 45 minutes, I figured. But I had it set in my mind, that once I actually made it into work, without wrecking my own personal vehicle, I still
would refuse taking out a load. Oh, it is important that you should know that I drove a DAY-cab. NOT a sleeper truck. I was LOCAL, home every day, or every night...depending on when your shift started.
I creeped, crawled, white knuckled my way into the terminal. It snowed like I had never seen it snow since 1994. The roads were already so slick, and my little Ford Ranger was fishtailing all over the place. People assume if you have a pick
up truck, that it must be four wheel drive. My Ranger had rear wheel drive, not four wheel. I was limping into work with a top speed of 10 miles per hour, if I were lucky.
Upon arrival at the Distribution Center for Home Depot, I saw that many of the day cabs were gone already. I get into the office, stomping snow off of my boots, and clothes, and again, told my manager that I did not feel that it was
safe to attempt to deliver a load while we were being battered by a Winter No'easter. "Look how long it took me to drive into work?!", I said. "Nearly two hours to go 33 miles"! "Karl, it's not SAFE to go out in that"!!!
Karl picks up the office phone and calls a boss out in Philadelphia, who at the time, was running the distribution center out there. "F.A." gets on the phone. I explain the whole scenario to him, and get this: "Well, it's not that bad
HERE". !!!! I can see I was going to get zero co-operation from the people who worked for a company who brags, "SAFETY FIRST". Infuriated at this point, I call Corporate Safety. Now, I have "F.A", "Mike B", and a man from CORPORATE SAFETY from ARKANSAS ganged up on me on the phone. I'm being pressured from every side to take that load out in weather conditions that were calling for 33 INCHES of snow. I was nearly in tears. In the meantime, a male co-worker told them flatly, "I ain't doin' it. Pound salt"!! and left. His name was Lenny. Had seven years w/ the
company. I had only 4. Lenny leaves,flat out refuses to drive in unsafe conditions....no male manager questioned his decision....yah...no problem, while I'm choking back tears from being ganged up on and pressured by my "superiors".
The end result? I stuck to my guns. But I was made to feel like an abysmal failure for "being safe". Every day-cab local driver who went out in that blizzard got stuck, got stranded...in a day cab. No place to sleep, except uncomfortably across the seats, hopefully they carried a wooden board to use. Hopefully, those drivers packed enough food and water, and an extra blanket, (in case their truck stalled out, or mechanical problems). Is that what you call "SAFETY FIRST"??? Is THAT why that particular company has put on my DAC report, "Unsatisfactory Performance"?
Why was my male co-worker given the respect that I was not given? Why was I psychologically "gang banged" over the phone? By the grace of God, not one of my co-workers had a weather related "incident" or accident that night.
Because if they had, the first thing CORPORATE SAFETY would have said before they terminated them would have been,
"IF YOU DIDN'T FEEL IT WAS SAFE, THEN WHY DID YOU ATTEMPT TO DELIVER THE LOAD"? and "CLEAN OUT YOUR TRUCK, YOUR TERMINATED".
You can't tell me this isn't the most corrupt and hypocritical industry in which to work. Until I see otherwise, I am a firm believer that we are truly the "Last American Sweatshop". If we are Professional Drivers, then why are we paid ridiculously low wages, pushed to drive illegal, and no matter what we do, we are "the bad guys".
Talk about being between a rock and a hard place!
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
New York City Insanity
NEW YORK CITY INSANITY!!!
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers
No matter how many times I am dispatched to drive a 18 wheeler in New York City, it always feels as tho I am going there for the first time! I am just as terrified of getting lost or stuck under a low underpass as I was on my very first trip to the Big Apple back in 1996. Nothing has changed, except there are five times more vehicles, and still too many one way streets that you can't turn down. U-turn a big truck in New York City? GOOD LUCK! I don't think so!
Driving 70 feet worth of vehicle, in New York City, whether it be the Bronx, or Brooklyn, or Manhattan, can and WILL prematurely age you! Can anyone explain why, how it would take me 45 minutes to manuever my way to another part of Review Street, which was 1/2 mile away? Well, lets re-enact the nightmare, shall we? After delivering a load to 30-20 Review St...my next delivery was on 20-10 Review St. Sounds simple enuff, right? Well, I drive down to the corner and hang a right turn, narrowly avoiding a car that was parked too close to the corner, IE: parked ILLEGALLY....next corner, I need to make a right, but can't. It's a one way street. So, we go down another block....too narrow to turn unto. So, we go down another block, and see a "no trucks allowed" sign. OK....no big deal...I'll just make a left and another left....and well, to make a long story short...by the time I'm done lefting and righting and squeezing under a bridge marked 12'2 when I'm 13'6...good grief Gawd Almighty, I'm just plumb freakin' lost at this point, and our brave and spunky "Katwoman" has just become the poster child for road rage! PS....New York bridges are generally posted one foot lower than they actually are. This information is absolutely useless if you don't know it when you first go Big Apple bound. Ask any trucker about their first trip into the city, I'm sure you will get an earful. Grown men have been known to cry when dispatched to the City. Many companies will offer an "incentive", like $100.00 more in your paycheck to "cross the bridge"...your OTR (over the road) drivers see this extra moolah....most local drivers do not receive any extra pay for the extra hazards of driving in the city. We just get more wrinkles, gray hair, elevated blood pressure, and deep frown-y lines in our faces. Oh, and increased stress causes increased belly fat! aargh! Oh, and where the heck does a lady trucker go to pee??? Do the dispatchers ever take THAT INTO CONSIDERATION?????? You big dumb dummies!!!
(Hey "Katwoman"....is your truck empty?
Answer: "Hell No! I've got a trailer full of DISPATCHER BRAINS!!!"
Oh yeah, let's not forget that New Yorkers just park where they want. They just stop where they want...right in front of you....they don't use their turn signals....nobody gets tickets except the truckers trying to make the deliveries to these people who wanted their goods yesterday, if not sooner. NY transportation authorities circle around truck drivers like hungry buzzards looking to pick the bills out of our wallets.
PS....and for those of you who are really naive enough to think that looking at a map will actually help you navigate a big truck in The City, well, I have three words for you.
THEN WHY THE HELL DON'T YOU TRY IT!!!
Current mood: aggravated
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers
No matter how many times I am dispatched to drive a 18 wheeler in New York City, it always feels as tho I am going there for the first time! I am just as terrified of getting lost or stuck under a low underpass as I was on my very first trip to the Big Apple back in 1996. Nothing has changed, except there are five times more vehicles, and still too many one way streets that you can't turn down. U-turn a big truck in New York City? GOOD LUCK! I don't think so!
Driving 70 feet worth of vehicle, in New York City, whether it be the Bronx, or Brooklyn, or Manhattan, can and WILL prematurely age you! Can anyone explain why, how it would take me 45 minutes to manuever my way to another part of Review Street, which was 1/2 mile away? Well, lets re-enact the nightmare, shall we? After delivering a load to 30-20 Review St...my next delivery was on 20-10 Review St. Sounds simple enuff, right? Well, I drive down to the corner and hang a right turn, narrowly avoiding a car that was parked too close to the corner, IE: parked ILLEGALLY....next corner, I need to make a right, but can't. It's a one way street. So, we go down another block....too narrow to turn unto. So, we go down another block, and see a "no trucks allowed" sign. OK....no big deal...I'll just make a left and another left....and well, to make a long story short...by the time I'm done lefting and righting and squeezing under a bridge marked 12'2 when I'm 13'6...good grief Gawd Almighty, I'm just plumb freakin' lost at this point, and our brave and spunky "Katwoman" has just become the poster child for road rage! PS....New York bridges are generally posted one foot lower than they actually are. This information is absolutely useless if you don't know it when you first go Big Apple bound. Ask any trucker about their first trip into the city, I'm sure you will get an earful. Grown men have been known to cry when dispatched to the City. Many companies will offer an "incentive", like $100.00 more in your paycheck to "cross the bridge"...your OTR (over the road) drivers see this extra moolah....most local drivers do not receive any extra pay for the extra hazards of driving in the city. We just get more wrinkles, gray hair, elevated blood pressure, and deep frown-y lines in our faces. Oh, and increased stress causes increased belly fat! aargh! Oh, and where the heck does a lady trucker go to pee??? Do the dispatchers ever take THAT INTO CONSIDERATION?????? You big dumb dummies!!!
(Hey "Katwoman"....is your truck empty?
Answer: "Hell No! I've got a trailer full of DISPATCHER BRAINS!!!"
Oh yeah, let's not forget that New Yorkers just park where they want. They just stop where they want...right in front of you....they don't use their turn signals....nobody gets tickets except the truckers trying to make the deliveries to these people who wanted their goods yesterday, if not sooner. NY transportation authorities circle around truck drivers like hungry buzzards looking to pick the bills out of our wallets.
PS....and for those of you who are really naive enough to think that looking at a map will actually help you navigate a big truck in The City, well, I have three words for you.
THEN WHY THE HELL DON'T YOU TRY IT!!!
Poem: A Cancerian Reflection
A Cancerian Reflection
Moonchild, Moonchild
Shining bright,
Loves the evening,
adores the night.
Enchanted by the silvery light,
of the moons' shine,
Moonchild.
Stumble bunny, acts so funny,
never knowing who'll she'll be.
She will charm you,
sometimes alarm you
when she's moody,
Moonchild.
Spoiled baby, sexy lady.
She will haunt you with her eyes.
And when she loves you,
she'll stand beside you,
Forever,
for she's
Moonchild.
Moonchild, Moonchild
Shining bright,
Loves the evening,
adores the night.
Enchanted by the silvery light,
of the moons' shine,
Moonchild.
Stumble bunny, acts so funny,
never knowing who'll she'll be.
She will charm you,
sometimes alarm you
when she's moody,
Moonchild.
Spoiled baby, sexy lady.
She will haunt you with her eyes.
And when she loves you,
she'll stand beside you,
Forever,
for she's
Moonchild.
Poem: The Sparrows Sing
I gaze past a dusty sill onto a cacaphony
of yard debris.
Gaudy plastic pinwheels spin joyously
in the afternoon bright.
Sparrows chatter unceasingly,
arguing endlessly over favored plots
and tidbits of soil bearing pearls.
A chimney stands stoic.
Plastered against an era of forgotten architecture.
Two small windows lie to it's left,
barely framed, as if in afterthought.
In awe, I gasp as the bravery of the day thunders
through.
The sun whispers it's secrets, then it roars.
Like a tigress, her lust will be fed.
Without malice, the wind lies her subjects low.
Bushes bow in deference.
Flowers surrender their petals to Mother's
succulent breast.
In the distance, sirens howl in sympathy with the dogs.
Yet, without remorse,
with no recourse,
With joy,
The sparrows sing.
of yard debris.
Gaudy plastic pinwheels spin joyously
in the afternoon bright.
Sparrows chatter unceasingly,
arguing endlessly over favored plots
and tidbits of soil bearing pearls.
A chimney stands stoic.
Plastered against an era of forgotten architecture.
Two small windows lie to it's left,
barely framed, as if in afterthought.
In awe, I gasp as the bravery of the day thunders
through.
The sun whispers it's secrets, then it roars.
Like a tigress, her lust will be fed.
Without malice, the wind lies her subjects low.
Bushes bow in deference.
Flowers surrender their petals to Mother's
succulent breast.
In the distance, sirens howl in sympathy with the dogs.
Yet, without remorse,
with no recourse,
With joy,
The sparrows sing.
A Trash Pickin' Success Story
I come from a middle class, blue collar background. My Dad was a restaraunt owner, and later, a postal worker. We were never "rich", nor did we own our own home, but on the other hand, I ate Filet Mignon three times a week, did not know what "left-overs" were, was adequately clothed, and I was the envy of every child come Christmas time. As the only child, and "Daddy's Little Girl", there was not a toy or kiddie product advertised that I didn't receive in any given year.
I didn't really see my Dad too much when he worked for the Post Office, at least for the first few years. He was a "sub", and the hours varied wildly. When he was home, I was admonished to "SSshhhh!!! Be quiet, your Daddy's sleeping". So, I had no friends come over to visit, and I kept a low profile...usually spent reading a favorite Nancy Drew or Bobbsey Twin book in my room. But, come Sunday...Oh boy! That was me and Daddy's Day together! I would eagerly anticipate a fun day spent with the one man I dearly adored above all others....My Daddy, the "light of my life".
Daddy had his morning routine, as do most Daddies. After his shower, he would carefully lather up, and I would stand slightly behind him, to his left, and emulate his every move, his every facial expression, as he carefully shaved the stubborn Greek stubble that is the bane of any man of Mediterranean descent. With his hair still wet from the shower, he would carefully comb some Vitalis through his enviously thick, Greek head of hair, and I would mimic his grimace from the sting of whatever it was that he would use as an aftershave lotion. Then, with his hand in his right pocket, I would hear the constant jingling of change and keys, as he would pace around the apartment for fifteen minutes, while he decided the next course of action. The first big decision would be, "Where to go for breakfast". White Rose? IHOP? Hit our NJ route 9 and head South to the shore? I never knew in advance. Every Sunday was a new surprise! After breakfast, there would be another new fun quest....do we go to the park, and throw a ball around? Maybe we'll take the Staten Island Ferry into NY and stroll around, enjoying the solitude of the business section. Perhaps visit one of his many best friends? How 'bout we just go feed the ducks at the local pond?....
Or simply stroll around the neighborhood and go
TRASH PICKING??????
"What? Trash picking???" as most people might sneer in disgust. Well, sure! Why not? Many a book, with just it's front cover torn off, was put out, that we proudly presented Mother with on our return home. A voracious reader, she cared little for it's fancy front cover adornment. It was the content that intrigued her. Like a Lioness, Mother was always pleased when her two "cubs" returned with prized meat! But, we found many objects of curiousity that we would gleefully scrounge out of a pile and we could barely contain our excitement about the "find of the year"!
There was the obligatory corner candy store in our little home town. The real old fashioned kind, with a soda counter, tall, round stools, and people who knew how to make a true NY "egg cream" soda. Occasionally, this said candy store would throw out it's old window display items. I would come home with some true treasures from this candy store. But the day my Daddy and I discovered "the frozen candy box" was a day that will live forever in my mind.
It was a thing of beauty, it was. A most delectable box of glistening assorted chocolates. I carefully lifted the lid off of the box....What an array it was! Some square, some round, brown swirls, some mounds....OH! The pure joy of finding such deliciousness put out on the pile of "trash". I was beyond thrilled! I grabbed it and ran to Daddy...."LOOK DADDY!!!! A HUGE BOX OF CHOCOLATES!!!!!" I immediately regretted sharing my "find", for I was already 'brain-finagling' how I could sneak all this wonderful candy home to eat at my leisure!
Dad was a pretty smart fella. He quickly surmised that this candy wasn't "real", and started poking and tapping on each and every candy to be sure that they were fake. They were! Each and every one of these succulent morsels were made of plastic. Oh, the horror! The abject horror of it all! PLASTIC!!! They were perfectly formed chocolate tidbits that teased and enticed the onlooker to enter the store and buy a box of the real thing.
I was heartbroken. Crestfallen. My anticipated solo chocolate orgy was dashed! As my chin dropped down, my lower lip quivered and my ten year old eyes welled up with tears. I looked up at Daddy. His eyes were twinkling, and he was chuckling.
"Let's play a fun joke on Mommy".
Daddy outlined the whole scenario:
"We'll tell Mommy that these are 'frozen candies' and that she has to keep them in the refrigerator to defrost slowly, so that they don't turn bad".
It all sounded pretty good to me, and we returned home, excited again, at this new prize. I remember Mom listening to Dad explain about these "candies" and what to do with them. Dutiful wife that she was, she took what he told her to do to heart. Into the refrigerator they went.
Every day, I observed my Mother, going into the refrigerator, and open the box of chocolates. She would lift the lid, and with the tip of her fingernail, gently tap the tops of a few chocolates. Feeling that they were still hard and "frozen", she would return the box to the frig. Dad's sweet tooth was reknowned in our family circle, and Mother was to inform him as soon as they were ready to eat. At least three times a day, she was poking at these candies.
It was about a week and a half later. As usual, Mom was in the kitchen, Pop was relaxing on the couch in the living room, and one room over, I was in my bedroom. Out of the relative quietness of the apartment, I heard my Mother's voice hollering to beat the band,
"LOOOOUIEE!!!! OH FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!........LOOOUUUUU!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was nearly an hour before my Dad calmed down long enough to stop laughing, and once Mother stopped weeping, it was even funnier!
You know. until the day she died, I don't believe that Mother ever looked at a box of chocolates the same way again.
I didn't really see my Dad too much when he worked for the Post Office, at least for the first few years. He was a "sub", and the hours varied wildly. When he was home, I was admonished to "SSshhhh!!! Be quiet, your Daddy's sleeping". So, I had no friends come over to visit, and I kept a low profile...usually spent reading a favorite Nancy Drew or Bobbsey Twin book in my room. But, come Sunday...Oh boy! That was me and Daddy's Day together! I would eagerly anticipate a fun day spent with the one man I dearly adored above all others....My Daddy, the "light of my life".
Daddy had his morning routine, as do most Daddies. After his shower, he would carefully lather up, and I would stand slightly behind him, to his left, and emulate his every move, his every facial expression, as he carefully shaved the stubborn Greek stubble that is the bane of any man of Mediterranean descent. With his hair still wet from the shower, he would carefully comb some Vitalis through his enviously thick, Greek head of hair, and I would mimic his grimace from the sting of whatever it was that he would use as an aftershave lotion. Then, with his hand in his right pocket, I would hear the constant jingling of change and keys, as he would pace around the apartment for fifteen minutes, while he decided the next course of action. The first big decision would be, "Where to go for breakfast". White Rose? IHOP? Hit our NJ route 9 and head South to the shore? I never knew in advance. Every Sunday was a new surprise! After breakfast, there would be another new fun quest....do we go to the park, and throw a ball around? Maybe we'll take the Staten Island Ferry into NY and stroll around, enjoying the solitude of the business section. Perhaps visit one of his many best friends? How 'bout we just go feed the ducks at the local pond?....
Or simply stroll around the neighborhood and go
TRASH PICKING??????
"What? Trash picking???" as most people might sneer in disgust. Well, sure! Why not? Many a book, with just it's front cover torn off, was put out, that we proudly presented Mother with on our return home. A voracious reader, she cared little for it's fancy front cover adornment. It was the content that intrigued her. Like a Lioness, Mother was always pleased when her two "cubs" returned with prized meat! But, we found many objects of curiousity that we would gleefully scrounge out of a pile and we could barely contain our excitement about the "find of the year"!
There was the obligatory corner candy store in our little home town. The real old fashioned kind, with a soda counter, tall, round stools, and people who knew how to make a true NY "egg cream" soda. Occasionally, this said candy store would throw out it's old window display items. I would come home with some true treasures from this candy store. But the day my Daddy and I discovered "the frozen candy box" was a day that will live forever in my mind.
It was a thing of beauty, it was. A most delectable box of glistening assorted chocolates. I carefully lifted the lid off of the box....What an array it was! Some square, some round, brown swirls, some mounds....OH! The pure joy of finding such deliciousness put out on the pile of "trash". I was beyond thrilled! I grabbed it and ran to Daddy...."LOOK DADDY!!!! A HUGE BOX OF CHOCOLATES!!!!!" I immediately regretted sharing my "find", for I was already 'brain-finagling' how I could sneak all this wonderful candy home to eat at my leisure!
Dad was a pretty smart fella. He quickly surmised that this candy wasn't "real", and started poking and tapping on each and every candy to be sure that they were fake. They were! Each and every one of these succulent morsels were made of plastic. Oh, the horror! The abject horror of it all! PLASTIC!!! They were perfectly formed chocolate tidbits that teased and enticed the onlooker to enter the store and buy a box of the real thing.
I was heartbroken. Crestfallen. My anticipated solo chocolate orgy was dashed! As my chin dropped down, my lower lip quivered and my ten year old eyes welled up with tears. I looked up at Daddy. His eyes were twinkling, and he was chuckling.
"Let's play a fun joke on Mommy".
Daddy outlined the whole scenario:
"We'll tell Mommy that these are 'frozen candies' and that she has to keep them in the refrigerator to defrost slowly, so that they don't turn bad".
It all sounded pretty good to me, and we returned home, excited again, at this new prize. I remember Mom listening to Dad explain about these "candies" and what to do with them. Dutiful wife that she was, she took what he told her to do to heart. Into the refrigerator they went.
Every day, I observed my Mother, going into the refrigerator, and open the box of chocolates. She would lift the lid, and with the tip of her fingernail, gently tap the tops of a few chocolates. Feeling that they were still hard and "frozen", she would return the box to the frig. Dad's sweet tooth was reknowned in our family circle, and Mother was to inform him as soon as they were ready to eat. At least three times a day, she was poking at these candies.
It was about a week and a half later. As usual, Mom was in the kitchen, Pop was relaxing on the couch in the living room, and one room over, I was in my bedroom. Out of the relative quietness of the apartment, I heard my Mother's voice hollering to beat the band,
"LOOOOUIEE!!!! OH FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!........LOOOUUUUU!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was nearly an hour before my Dad calmed down long enough to stop laughing, and once Mother stopped weeping, it was even funnier!
You know. until the day she died, I don't believe that Mother ever looked at a box of chocolates the same way again.
Drat the Haz-Mat!
As a commercial, or professional driver, I am required by the current Federal and DOT regulations, to maintain any endorsements that I may have on my driver's license. Presently, I have the tanker endorsement, and I am licensed to pull doubles/triple trailers. The one endorsement that I had, was Haz-Mat. Even when not hauling hazardous materials, many companies require that you have this extra letter on your DL. The reason being, is that you may have one skid of a reportable quantity of laundry detergent...or batteries...etc. Usually, the only thing hazardous on my truck is my lunch, or leftovers from the previous nights dinner! There are some who may consider the contents of my purse hazardous, and, on occasion, I may be inclined to agree with them.
Having to take the dreaded haz-mat written test fills me with tremendous anxiety. In order to pass this written test, which I have to take every year, I have to stuff my head full of useless information, like: "If your truck catches fire, what do you do? Pick one answer". With a multiple choice questionaire, I have only one answer which I find appropriate, but, unfortunately, it is not one of the answers on the test. My answer is always, "I would grab my purse, and run screaming away from the burning vehicle." Another question was, "If your truck is leaking a hazardous liquid, and it catches fire do you: A) open the trailer doors and find the leaking package? B) Try to control and contain the fire? C) Warn others of the hazard? D) Grab your purse and run screaming away from the vehicle? FYI, the correct answer in this case, would be D!!!
Another source of consternation is the NJDMV requirement of having 6 pts of ID. So, plan on bringing your current birth certificate, (they might not accept the original one...if it's too old!) Social Security card, utility bills that go to your HOME address and not your P.O. Box, the letter from the TSA that states you are NOT a terrorist, marriage license, (if you are a woman, and don't tell them you got divorced, or they want to see the divorce papers too!) your current drivers license with your picture on it, and the receipt from when you got fingerprinted. I'm surprised that they don't require the trucker to get fingerprinted every freaking year...after all, don't those "expire" after a year??? Next year, I think I'll bring them a vial of blood and a print out of my DNA. Oh, and maybe some hair samples would be good. If I had a first born son, what the hell, I'd bring him too. I would surely give them more information than any terrorist would do. I think the bad guy would simply get in his explosive laden truck...(with the balls to drive without his Haz-Mat endorsement!) and do what the bad guys do best. Which is make it harder for Joe Schmoe and Frilly Jill to get their damned Haz-Mat endorsement!!! Aargh!
Well, I took the dratted test. Passed it by the skin of my teeth. I knew the hard stuff, flunked on the easy questions...no matter, I passed. Huge sigh of relief. I rolled my eyes heavenward in gratitude. Whew.
After a furtive glance in my pocket mirror, and a quick, but careful fresh application of lipstick, the best part is that they didn't take a new picture of me after all. Instead, they used the one on my current license that had been taken two or three years ago. I'm thinking, if they do this every year, I'm gonna look fantastic when my license states I'm a 70 year old ladytrucker. It'll save me a ton of money on face lifts and eye tucks!
Having to take the dreaded haz-mat written test fills me with tremendous anxiety. In order to pass this written test, which I have to take every year, I have to stuff my head full of useless information, like: "If your truck catches fire, what do you do? Pick one answer". With a multiple choice questionaire, I have only one answer which I find appropriate, but, unfortunately, it is not one of the answers on the test. My answer is always, "I would grab my purse, and run screaming away from the burning vehicle." Another question was, "If your truck is leaking a hazardous liquid, and it catches fire do you: A) open the trailer doors and find the leaking package? B) Try to control and contain the fire? C) Warn others of the hazard? D) Grab your purse and run screaming away from the vehicle? FYI, the correct answer in this case, would be D!!!
Another source of consternation is the NJDMV requirement of having 6 pts of ID. So, plan on bringing your current birth certificate, (they might not accept the original one...if it's too old!) Social Security card, utility bills that go to your HOME address and not your P.O. Box, the letter from the TSA that states you are NOT a terrorist, marriage license, (if you are a woman, and don't tell them you got divorced, or they want to see the divorce papers too!) your current drivers license with your picture on it, and the receipt from when you got fingerprinted. I'm surprised that they don't require the trucker to get fingerprinted every freaking year...after all, don't those "expire" after a year??? Next year, I think I'll bring them a vial of blood and a print out of my DNA. Oh, and maybe some hair samples would be good. If I had a first born son, what the hell, I'd bring him too. I would surely give them more information than any terrorist would do. I think the bad guy would simply get in his explosive laden truck...(with the balls to drive without his Haz-Mat endorsement!) and do what the bad guys do best. Which is make it harder for Joe Schmoe and Frilly Jill to get their damned Haz-Mat endorsement!!! Aargh!
Well, I took the dratted test. Passed it by the skin of my teeth. I knew the hard stuff, flunked on the easy questions...no matter, I passed. Huge sigh of relief. I rolled my eyes heavenward in gratitude. Whew.
After a furtive glance in my pocket mirror, and a quick, but careful fresh application of lipstick, the best part is that they didn't take a new picture of me after all. Instead, they used the one on my current license that had been taken two or three years ago. I'm thinking, if they do this every year, I'm gonna look fantastic when my license states I'm a 70 year old ladytrucker. It'll save me a ton of money on face lifts and eye tucks!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
"Hey Lady, That's a Funny Place to Park"!!!
How often do you make a wrong turn while driving your car? Even if only occasionally, you know you can easily get turned around, and get yourself back on track. Imagine, if you will, trying to get turned around to the correct direction when you are driving an 18 wheeler...a tractor/trailer. It's not so easy. I have gotten MORE lost trying to get back going the right way. In fact, while somewhere out in the Mid-West... Idaho, I believe it was, I drove close to 50 miles before I could find a place large enough to turn around in.
It was Wintertime, and there was a great deal of snow on the ground in Idaho that day. I was on what the truckers commonly refer to as "a skinny road". A skinny road is one that is not a major interstate, but is OK for truck traffic to use. And they look just like that on the map....skinny roads.
I was going the wrong way. I can get lost in a parking lot, so I was used to making some funky U-turns, but out in the middle of Potato Land, there were no U-turns, or "jughandles" in which to get myself turned around. I drove for miles and miles....seeing vast acres of snow covered farm land. I was on a little two lane road that was heavily trafficked by the tractor trailers trying to avoid the toll roads and "chicken houses"....another trucker term for a weigh scale. After an hour of driving, I finally see a large open expanse with farm equipment parked out in front of a building with a large "John Deere" sign on it. I breathed a huge sigh of relief...."I can get turned around in this guy's semi-circular driveway", I thought.
I pull in, and as I'm heading toward what I thought was the exit, I notice that there seems to be a fairly large, snow covered incline, so I gassed the truck, and roared up the hill.
The truck was doin' pretty good, but suddenly, I came to an abrupt stop. Perplexed, I put her back in first gear, and gunned the engine. Put her in reverse and tried again. Nothing. I wasn't moving. Just making lots of loud engine noise. I look over at the building, and there's 6 men, standing in front of the large storefront window...staring at me in amazement. "Geez....haven't they ever seen a lady driving a 'big rig' before", I was thinking. Even as recently as 10 years ago, ladytruckers were still sort of scarce, and a bit of a novelty.
Well, I climbed down out of the truck to get a better look. To my horror, I saw that I was just plumb stuck....the fuel tanks were halfway buried in the snow. It was deeper than I had realized. And the rear tandem tires were OFF of the ground!!! I had been spinning my tires in the wind! AAARGH!!!
Humiliated, I sheepishly walked toward the building. All of the men were still standing in the window, one old feller was scratching his head, looking as perplexed as I felt.
"Good afternoon, Gentlemen", and I introduced myself. "I was a little lost and found that i was going in the wrong direction, so I thought I'd get turned around in your semi-circular driveway, but somehow, I got stuck".
I look over to my right and see an old farmer, chewin' on a long piece of straw. He spat into a coffee can spittoon next to him, and started to guffaw. "Hey, Earl"! He bellowed, "When y'all gonna finish puttin' in that semi-circular driveway y'all started?!" At that, all of those farmers got to belly laughin' so hard, I feared that the old man was going to keel over from apoplexy. To say I was mortified would be an understatement.
One fella in particular was real nice. He and I walked outside to get a better handle on my predictament, and he explained what I did wrong. "Thar's a big ditch right thar, little lady. It's all filled in with snow. That's why you didn't see that it were a ditch. Git in yer truck and try to back 'er up".
I climb back in and put her in reverse. Gun 'er good. Nothing. Just a lot of noise. And to make matters worse, I hear the truckers cackling over my CB radio..."Hey lady! That's a funny place to park!" They're all having one hell of a good laugh, and no doubt, I gave those fellers many miles of entertainment as they drove down the road. Truckers love to yammer on the CB, and especially out there in potato land where there is not much to look at. To them, a blonde stuck in the ditch was great fun indeed!
A few of the fellers trudged out into the snow to offer "assistance". No matter how I tried to move that truck, it wasn't budging. Finally, they called a farmer buddy from "up the road a piece". I can only imagine what they told him, because it didn't take to long for him to get there on his farm tractor.
He hooked up some cables to the back of the trailer, and started to pull me out backwards. One middle-aged feller, name of Ed Kitchen, and I, hunkered down and stared at the back tires to see if it were actually moving. When I tell you that grass would grow faster than that truck was inching back, we're not exaggerating. "It's movin', little lady, can't ya see the snow bunchin' up on the tire?" If I weren't already so mortified, I would have started wailing. "No, the truck isn't moving, Ed! I'm stuck here forever. I'll have to call my boss!" Being homeless AND unemployed was a calamitious scenario running through my brain at that moment. The last thing I wanted to do, was to have call the boss who was of the antiquated mindset who thought women didn't belong behind the wheel of a "big rig". I sure didn't want to be the gal to "prove him right".
Ed gave me a good look up and down, as amusement twinkled in his eyes. "So, how long you been driving this big ol' truck, little lady?"
My head down, and my voice barely audible, I whispered, " 'Bout four months now, Ed".
"Well, I supposin' y'all ain't doin' all too badly, then." he growled.
The truck moved at a snails pace, and it took over an hour, but that tractor pullin' farmer freed me of that snowy fuel tank grave....backwards, of course. Reaching down into my half frozen jeans, I gratefully grabbed at all the cash that I had in my wordly possession. Yuppers...He got the princely sum of $36 bucks and 80 cents!
I was delirous with joy! Lots of hand-pumping and hearty thank you's and good natured laughter all around! I just couldn't thank them enough for all they did for me, and no, never did tell my boss about that one....nosiree bob!
Though, to this day, I can't help but wonder how many folks read about it in the local paper. I have no doubt that I was the biggest story in that "blink and you'll miss it" little town for a long time after.
Yup, that sure was a funny place to park! LOL!
It was Wintertime, and there was a great deal of snow on the ground in Idaho that day. I was on what the truckers commonly refer to as "a skinny road". A skinny road is one that is not a major interstate, but is OK for truck traffic to use. And they look just like that on the map....skinny roads.
I was going the wrong way. I can get lost in a parking lot, so I was used to making some funky U-turns, but out in the middle of Potato Land, there were no U-turns, or "jughandles" in which to get myself turned around. I drove for miles and miles....seeing vast acres of snow covered farm land. I was on a little two lane road that was heavily trafficked by the tractor trailers trying to avoid the toll roads and "chicken houses"....another trucker term for a weigh scale. After an hour of driving, I finally see a large open expanse with farm equipment parked out in front of a building with a large "John Deere" sign on it. I breathed a huge sigh of relief...."I can get turned around in this guy's semi-circular driveway", I thought.
I pull in, and as I'm heading toward what I thought was the exit, I notice that there seems to be a fairly large, snow covered incline, so I gassed the truck, and roared up the hill.
The truck was doin' pretty good, but suddenly, I came to an abrupt stop. Perplexed, I put her back in first gear, and gunned the engine. Put her in reverse and tried again. Nothing. I wasn't moving. Just making lots of loud engine noise. I look over at the building, and there's 6 men, standing in front of the large storefront window...staring at me in amazement. "Geez....haven't they ever seen a lady driving a 'big rig' before", I was thinking. Even as recently as 10 years ago, ladytruckers were still sort of scarce, and a bit of a novelty.
Well, I climbed down out of the truck to get a better look. To my horror, I saw that I was just plumb stuck....the fuel tanks were halfway buried in the snow. It was deeper than I had realized. And the rear tandem tires were OFF of the ground!!! I had been spinning my tires in the wind! AAARGH!!!
Humiliated, I sheepishly walked toward the building. All of the men were still standing in the window, one old feller was scratching his head, looking as perplexed as I felt.
"Good afternoon, Gentlemen", and I introduced myself. "I was a little lost and found that i was going in the wrong direction, so I thought I'd get turned around in your semi-circular driveway, but somehow, I got stuck".
I look over to my right and see an old farmer, chewin' on a long piece of straw. He spat into a coffee can spittoon next to him, and started to guffaw. "Hey, Earl"! He bellowed, "When y'all gonna finish puttin' in that semi-circular driveway y'all started?!" At that, all of those farmers got to belly laughin' so hard, I feared that the old man was going to keel over from apoplexy. To say I was mortified would be an understatement.
One fella in particular was real nice. He and I walked outside to get a better handle on my predictament, and he explained what I did wrong. "Thar's a big ditch right thar, little lady. It's all filled in with snow. That's why you didn't see that it were a ditch. Git in yer truck and try to back 'er up".
I climb back in and put her in reverse. Gun 'er good. Nothing. Just a lot of noise. And to make matters worse, I hear the truckers cackling over my CB radio..."Hey lady! That's a funny place to park!" They're all having one hell of a good laugh, and no doubt, I gave those fellers many miles of entertainment as they drove down the road. Truckers love to yammer on the CB, and especially out there in potato land where there is not much to look at. To them, a blonde stuck in the ditch was great fun indeed!
A few of the fellers trudged out into the snow to offer "assistance". No matter how I tried to move that truck, it wasn't budging. Finally, they called a farmer buddy from "up the road a piece". I can only imagine what they told him, because it didn't take to long for him to get there on his farm tractor.
He hooked up some cables to the back of the trailer, and started to pull me out backwards. One middle-aged feller, name of Ed Kitchen, and I, hunkered down and stared at the back tires to see if it were actually moving. When I tell you that grass would grow faster than that truck was inching back, we're not exaggerating. "It's movin', little lady, can't ya see the snow bunchin' up on the tire?" If I weren't already so mortified, I would have started wailing. "No, the truck isn't moving, Ed! I'm stuck here forever. I'll have to call my boss!" Being homeless AND unemployed was a calamitious scenario running through my brain at that moment. The last thing I wanted to do, was to have call the boss who was of the antiquated mindset who thought women didn't belong behind the wheel of a "big rig". I sure didn't want to be the gal to "prove him right".
Ed gave me a good look up and down, as amusement twinkled in his eyes. "So, how long you been driving this big ol' truck, little lady?"
My head down, and my voice barely audible, I whispered, " 'Bout four months now, Ed".
"Well, I supposin' y'all ain't doin' all too badly, then." he growled.
The truck moved at a snails pace, and it took over an hour, but that tractor pullin' farmer freed me of that snowy fuel tank grave....backwards, of course. Reaching down into my half frozen jeans, I gratefully grabbed at all the cash that I had in my wordly possession. Yuppers...He got the princely sum of $36 bucks and 80 cents!
I was delirous with joy! Lots of hand-pumping and hearty thank you's and good natured laughter all around! I just couldn't thank them enough for all they did for me, and no, never did tell my boss about that one....nosiree bob!
Though, to this day, I can't help but wonder how many folks read about it in the local paper. I have no doubt that I was the biggest story in that "blink and you'll miss it" little town for a long time after.
Yup, that sure was a funny place to park! LOL!
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