Enjoy...
I'll throw in a third that my buddy Ashley sent via e-mail today, but that one might only be funny to the Michigan crowd. You see, there's this ad campaign that costs millions of dollars... oh screw it. Just watch. You'll figure it out.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Heh.
One from a British scientist that might make you think. And then another from New York that is just gratuitous, but it made me chuckle. (Language warning on the second one, in case you're at work or whatever.)
Enjoy...
I'll throw in a third that my buddy Ashley sent via e-mail today, but that one might only be funny to the Michigan crowd. You see, there's this ad campaign that costs millions of dollars... oh screw it. Just watch. You'll figure it out.
Enjoy...
I'll throw in a third that my buddy Ashley sent via e-mail today, but that one might only be funny to the Michigan crowd. You see, there's this ad campaign that costs millions of dollars... oh screw it. Just watch. You'll figure it out.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Simplicity
♫ Mama told me, when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this, It'll help you
Some sunny day.
Oh take your time... Don't live too fast,
Troubles will come, and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you'll find love,
And don't forget son,
There is someone up above.
And be a simple kind of man.
Oh be somethin' , you'll love and understand.
Baby be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?
Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man.
Oh be somethin', you'll love and understand.
Baby be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?
Boy, don't you worry... you'll find yourself.
Follow you heart and nothing else.
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try.
All I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man
Oh be somethin', you'll love and understand.
Baby be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can? ♫
You know that old saying about cats having nine lives? It doesn't make any sense, right? I mean, I've seen dead cats before. They're just dead, man. And I'm pretty sure nobody killed them eight other times.
So I'm not sure about the whole nine lives thing, but I'm pretty certain that I've had at least two lives. I had the life where I endured stress and responsibility. I wanted the things that I didn't have (didn't have yet, as far as I was concerned). I did whatever it took to get them. I longed for some kind of mental and emotional perfection that really never was going to materialize, but I refused to accept this. I was smart enough, strong enough, and talented enough to impose my will on the world, by golly. In some ways I did so successfully. In others, not so much.
The painful disappointments in my life have been numerous. My guess is that many people can relate. The odd thing, though, is that the electrifying successes have been just as numerous. Many people can probably relate to this as well. Little things, big things, whatever. There have been more times than I could count when I've looked in the mirror and thought I had the world by the balls, if only for a moment. And then the moment would pass, as it always does, and I would be left either facing the next disappointment or seeking the next triumph. The cycle would never end.
Only... it did end. I don't know that I can pinpoint the moment when it happened. More likely it was a gradual process. Somehow though, one way or another, I discarded my entire life and way of thinking. I was blessed in the sense that I managed to lose everything that was important to me at a relatively young age. This probably doesn't sound like any great blessing on the surface but, in my case, it most certainly was one. I was forced to re-examine my assumptions about the world and about myself. I concluded that most of the world was full of shit and I was probably more full of shit than anyone. So I decided to take the advice of that weird guy in Risky Business. "Sometimes you gotta say, 'What the fuck...'"
And this second life was born. I woke with a hangover one morning and decided that I might as well become a truck driver. What the fuck, right? Why not? So I spent a few weeks learning from a truck driving school in the ghetto and then I got to work.
As I bounced around the country during the following four years, I gained an appreciation for how simple life really can be if you're willing to accept it. Sleeping at a truck stop is a drag, people will tell you. Maybe so, but at the Flying J in Pecos (for example) you could get fast enough internet service to watch a football game while your Swedish buddy could buy a twelve-pack of beer. Sitting at a loading dock without getting paid is bullshit, people will tell you. Maybe so, but that time at the dock also allowed for an occasional few hours to do nothing but kick back and read a book. How many people who are caught up in the rat race will ever have that kind of free time, I wonder.
I suppose that the best benefit of the last few years was the time to myself. Loneliness is loneliness and this is not to be disregarded, but it's all relative. Nobody had my attention. Nobody bothered me. Nobody expected anything from me. I just rolled along, free to examine my own thoughts on my own timeline. Every couple of miles, I made a dollar. A few miles later, I made another dollar. Sometimes the traffic or weather would manage to introduce a little bit of stress to the job, but it was always fleeting. The vast majority of my work could have been performed by a trained monkey.
Now I'm working my way back into life in Michigan, albeit slowly. I visit with some of my friends some of the time and so forth, but I'm still largely detached from the world that people seem to see. The timing of my entry into my new line of work has played a role in my slow assimilation, I suspect. The first few months of work were a rapid-fire learning experience for me, so the job seemed a little harder than it really was. Then, once I got accustomed to things, the dairy business took off like a rocket and I was content just to get through a given week. Pulling two loads on most days, getting to the gym on four or five nights a week, and negotiating a painful back injury along the way were more than enough to occupy my time, so I didn't have a chance to fall back into the old ways of seeing the world.
And now we get to tonight. I pulled another two loads - par for the course these days. Tomorrow (or today at this point, technically) is my scheduled day off. Friday is Christmas Eve and there won't be an afternoon shift at work, so I'll take the day off and collect my holiday pay. Christmas Day is another paid holiday with no work, meaning that I have three consecutive days off for the first time since July. Add in the fact that my unfortunate lodger has gone to Saginaw to spend the holiday with his family and what do we have? We have a comfortable couch, a case of beer in the fridge, and no disturbances for at least 72 hours. No responsibilities to address. No schedules to fulfill (aside from the usual holiday shindig at Mom's house). No broads to appease. Just three days of peace and relaxation. Life at the moment is very good.
It sounds simplistic, I guess, but I think that's the point.
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say.
And if you do this, It'll help you
Some sunny day.
Oh take your time... Don't live too fast,
Troubles will come, and they will pass.
Go find a woman and you'll find love,
And don't forget son,
There is someone up above.
And be a simple kind of man.
Oh be somethin' , you'll love and understand.
Baby be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?
Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man.
Oh be somethin', you'll love and understand.
Baby be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can?
Boy, don't you worry... you'll find yourself.
Follow you heart and nothing else.
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try.
All I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man
Oh be somethin', you'll love and understand.
Baby be a simple kind of man.
Won't you do this for me son,
If you can? ♫
You know that old saying about cats having nine lives? It doesn't make any sense, right? I mean, I've seen dead cats before. They're just dead, man. And I'm pretty sure nobody killed them eight other times.
So I'm not sure about the whole nine lives thing, but I'm pretty certain that I've had at least two lives. I had the life where I endured stress and responsibility. I wanted the things that I didn't have (didn't have yet, as far as I was concerned). I did whatever it took to get them. I longed for some kind of mental and emotional perfection that really never was going to materialize, but I refused to accept this. I was smart enough, strong enough, and talented enough to impose my will on the world, by golly. In some ways I did so successfully. In others, not so much.
The painful disappointments in my life have been numerous. My guess is that many people can relate. The odd thing, though, is that the electrifying successes have been just as numerous. Many people can probably relate to this as well. Little things, big things, whatever. There have been more times than I could count when I've looked in the mirror and thought I had the world by the balls, if only for a moment. And then the moment would pass, as it always does, and I would be left either facing the next disappointment or seeking the next triumph. The cycle would never end.
Only... it did end. I don't know that I can pinpoint the moment when it happened. More likely it was a gradual process. Somehow though, one way or another, I discarded my entire life and way of thinking. I was blessed in the sense that I managed to lose everything that was important to me at a relatively young age. This probably doesn't sound like any great blessing on the surface but, in my case, it most certainly was one. I was forced to re-examine my assumptions about the world and about myself. I concluded that most of the world was full of shit and I was probably more full of shit than anyone. So I decided to take the advice of that weird guy in Risky Business. "Sometimes you gotta say, 'What the fuck...'"
And this second life was born. I woke with a hangover one morning and decided that I might as well become a truck driver. What the fuck, right? Why not? So I spent a few weeks learning from a truck driving school in the ghetto and then I got to work.
As I bounced around the country during the following four years, I gained an appreciation for how simple life really can be if you're willing to accept it. Sleeping at a truck stop is a drag, people will tell you. Maybe so, but at the Flying J in Pecos (for example) you could get fast enough internet service to watch a football game while your Swedish buddy could buy a twelve-pack of beer. Sitting at a loading dock without getting paid is bullshit, people will tell you. Maybe so, but that time at the dock also allowed for an occasional few hours to do nothing but kick back and read a book. How many people who are caught up in the rat race will ever have that kind of free time, I wonder.
I suppose that the best benefit of the last few years was the time to myself. Loneliness is loneliness and this is not to be disregarded, but it's all relative. Nobody had my attention. Nobody bothered me. Nobody expected anything from me. I just rolled along, free to examine my own thoughts on my own timeline. Every couple of miles, I made a dollar. A few miles later, I made another dollar. Sometimes the traffic or weather would manage to introduce a little bit of stress to the job, but it was always fleeting. The vast majority of my work could have been performed by a trained monkey.
Now I'm working my way back into life in Michigan, albeit slowly. I visit with some of my friends some of the time and so forth, but I'm still largely detached from the world that people seem to see. The timing of my entry into my new line of work has played a role in my slow assimilation, I suspect. The first few months of work were a rapid-fire learning experience for me, so the job seemed a little harder than it really was. Then, once I got accustomed to things, the dairy business took off like a rocket and I was content just to get through a given week. Pulling two loads on most days, getting to the gym on four or five nights a week, and negotiating a painful back injury along the way were more than enough to occupy my time, so I didn't have a chance to fall back into the old ways of seeing the world.
And now we get to tonight. I pulled another two loads - par for the course these days. Tomorrow (or today at this point, technically) is my scheduled day off. Friday is Christmas Eve and there won't be an afternoon shift at work, so I'll take the day off and collect my holiday pay. Christmas Day is another paid holiday with no work, meaning that I have three consecutive days off for the first time since July. Add in the fact that my unfortunate lodger has gone to Saginaw to spend the holiday with his family and what do we have? We have a comfortable couch, a case of beer in the fridge, and no disturbances for at least 72 hours. No responsibilities to address. No schedules to fulfill (aside from the usual holiday shindig at Mom's house). No broads to appease. Just three days of peace and relaxation. Life at the moment is very good.
It sounds simplistic, I guess, but I think that's the point.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Godfather Movie Review: 'The Fighter'
Given the above context, it should come as no surprise that I always got a kick out of 'Irish' Micky Ward. This little pasty white dude was a brawler to the Nth degree and he was fun to watch. His battles with Arturo Gatti were the stuff of legend, as far as I'm concerned.
I've also always gotten a kick out of Mark Wahlberg's acting. Given the way he began with the Funky Bunch, I was a skeptic in the early going. After I saw the movie The Corruptor though, I was impressed. Mr. Wahlberg's performances over the years since then have rarely disappointed me.
So there was a likelihood that I might enjoy a movie about Micky Ward, starring Mark Wahlberg. There's always a fly in the ointment though, isn't there? For me, that fly is Hollywood. I would say conservatively that I have an interest in seeing perhaps one of every fifty movies that these modern hacks produce. I enjoyed quite a few movies from days of yore, but the whole industry seems to have gotten lazy. Of the very few movies that strike my interest, I actually go out and watch perhaps one in ten. Of the ones I do end up seeing in a theater, I enjoy roughly half. Hmmm, what are the odds for today's screening then? One way to find out...
I found a 4pm showing at a local establishment and headed out to see the picture. The actors were believable and entertaining. Aside from the headliners, who did a very nice job, there were some excellent character actors in various roles. (At the $4.50 twilight rate, just the gals playing Micky's sisters were probably worth the price.) The plot kept moving nicely and provided a surprising number of laughs to go along with the drama. The boxing sequences weren't exactly true to life, but they weren't nearly as cheesy as the scenes in Rocky either. The story itself is a typical American 'feel good after a struggle' kind of deal. Certain liberties were taken with recorded boxing history, but I guess that's where the "based on" part of "based on a true story" comes into play. I'm often guilty of being annoyed by outright movie fabrications, but in this case I really didn't care. I'm sure that the producers don't think many people will even know. I suspect that they're correct. The movie was a lot of fun to watch and that's the most important part.
You'll likely see Christian Bale receive some award nominations for his role as Ward's older brother - Dicky Eklund. In a movie where the acting was pretty solid all around, Bale really did stand out. Perhaps it was the sheer over-the-top douchebaggery of his character, but for whatever reason he was impressive.
Unless you grew up with June and Ward Cleaver, you'll probably see at least a little of your own family in the story. I certainly did.
Overall, we'll have to give this one four out of five strings.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Wat?
I have been blissfully immersed in the world of milk delivery and weight lifting for a while. Well, maybe not blissfully, but you know... Things have been quite busy at work. I've been hammering away at the gym. I've been trying to visit my old buddy in the nursing home. The days just seem to fly by. When you have a short attention span, as I clearly have, this isn't really a bad thing.
Anyhow, I was filing through my usual barrage of e-mails and catching up on things tonight. I came across a video clip of The One™. He and I won't ever be guest speakers at the same political convention, obviously, but I do at least make an effort to treat whatever he says with an open mind. He is the leader of my country and my political party, after all. So today's message was that a compromise had been reached with respect to the impending tax hikes. Well that's nice. Nobody likes a tax hike.
As I watched the video clip though, I was left scratching my head. There's something seriously wrong with this guy. (Don't take my word for it. Check out the Huffington Post or one of those other leftist sites.)
For starters, the rationale behind the urgent need for a compromise was what? The middle class can't afford a tax hike, right? Yeah, okay, I understand that part. But then why in the hell is The One™ pointing out that the Bushitler's tax cuts actually saved $3,000 a year for the average American family? If I'm gonna be a Democrat, then my party is gonna have to learn to stay on message. Bush only cut taxes for greedy billionaires! That $8 a week that we got from the stimulus bill was the only real middle class tax cut!
See, I can still say it, even if it is bullshit. My new party never, ever, mentioned the middle class tax cuts over the last several years. Why? Because it didn't suit the narrative. The asset bubble that came crashing down in 2007-08 was a bipartisan clusterfuck of epic proportions, but the economy actually did recover from a couple of recessions after those tax cuts. Nobody needed to know that sort of thing though. We were on message, by golly. Tax cuts for billionaires screwed us all while Republicans drank Slurpees, or whatever. Now this president is going to give in and say that Bush was right? Screw that.
Then there's the subject of negotiating strategy. What the fuck, Barack? I mean, seriously. You have been saying that we can't afford the tax cuts for upper-income people. The $3 trillion for the middle class is all good but the $0.7 trillion for the fat cats will explode the deficit. You know, beyond the tripling of the deficit that you've already done. We clearly can't afford such a thing, you said. I was skeptical of your numbers, but my monthly Teamsters magazine says you're pretty awesome, so I was willing to play along. Then, in order to get you to go along with an unaffordable tax cut, those dastardly Republicans had to give you... even more unaffordable tax cuts (and a little extra spending, just for kicks)? What the fuck, Barack? How do you expect to have people take you seriously? Or does it even matter at this point?
At least you got that extension of unemployment benefits though. Good work there. I mean, surely the Republicans aren't a bunch of spineless cowards who stand for nothing and would have given in on that topic once the opinion polls showed them losing ground in Michigan and Ohio. No, you read them correctly, I'm sure. Jackass. The Republican political establishment stands for nothing. When they think the public wants a prescription drug entitlement that we can't afford, they're "compassionate conservatives." Then, when a bunch of raaaacist hayseeds from flyover country are pretty pissed about runaway government spending, they're suddenly all "tea party conservatives." These guys are pussies. They would have extended unemployment benefits sooner or later, with or without a tax cut deal. Jackass.
Obviously though, I've been unfair up to this point. I must acknowledge that you stood your ground on the topic of permanent tax cuts. Clearly we can't allow those bloodsucking business owners who sign our paychecks to have a permanent tax break, so you held firm. Good job, Barack. The only permanent tax breaks will be those for the middle class. Wait a second... wat? It's all temporary? None of it is permanent? Just two years, seriously? We get to have this damned debate again the next time all of you sons of bitches are up for re-election?
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Dear Sweet Lord
If I can't unsee it, then neither can you...
Apparently this is how you get Norwegians to watch television or something. Dear sweet Lord.
Apparently this is how you get Norwegians to watch television or something. Dear sweet Lord.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
2001
You don't think a whole lot about the year 2001, do you? Neither do I, but screw it. Let's think back.
I was 25 years old.
I was still married (technically) to a woman that I hated.
I stood 6'2" tall and weighed (an impressively strong, for whatever it's worth) 220 pounds.
I was the general manager of a local pizzeria, where I drank a lot of beer on most busy nights but somehow managed to earn a comfortable living.
I was losing my hair at a steady pace, but not nearly as bald as I am now.
My country was pretending to be united, following an unprecedented attack on our homeland.
And, despite what may have lay on the horizon for me personally, for my country, or for my Irish, Notre Dame defeated USC by a score of 27-16.
Since the year 2001, my personal life has gone to shit. I, individually, have done largely the same. My nation, well, I guess you can see how that has worked out. My Irish... I don't want to talk about it.
Then came tonight.
Your starting quarterback was injured? So was ours, and our backup was in high school last year. You're on probation? Yeah, we're just wrapping up the self-imposed probation of the Willingham years, and the losses to that cheating degenerate Reggie Bush are still on our record. Your new coach is an incompetent, egotistical jackass? Yeah, we know a thing or two about that.
Suck it, USC. Suck it long. Suck it hard. Suck it any way you like. Just suck it. It's been a long time. In case I haven't been clear up to this moment, let me make my point one last time.
For a fan of a pathetic 7-5 football team, this is where we are. Tonight though, I'm okay with it.
I was 25 years old.
I was still married (technically) to a woman that I hated.
I stood 6'2" tall and weighed (an impressively strong, for whatever it's worth) 220 pounds.
I was the general manager of a local pizzeria, where I drank a lot of beer on most busy nights but somehow managed to earn a comfortable living.
I was losing my hair at a steady pace, but not nearly as bald as I am now.
My country was pretending to be united, following an unprecedented attack on our homeland.
And, despite what may have lay on the horizon for me personally, for my country, or for my Irish, Notre Dame defeated USC by a score of 27-16.
Since the year 2001, my personal life has gone to shit. I, individually, have done largely the same. My nation, well, I guess you can see how that has worked out. My Irish... I don't want to talk about it.
Then came tonight.
Your starting quarterback was injured? So was ours, and our backup was in high school last year. You're on probation? Yeah, we're just wrapping up the self-imposed probation of the Willingham years, and the losses to that cheating degenerate Reggie Bush are still on our record. Your new coach is an incompetent, egotistical jackass? Yeah, we know a thing or two about that.
Suck it, USC. Suck it long. Suck it hard. Suck it any way you like. Just suck it. It's been a long time. In case I haven't been clear up to this moment, let me make my point one last time.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Long Term Care
Back when I was a respectable white collar gentleman, earning my living with no dirt under my fingernails, one of my job titles still was adequate to draw a condescending view from a portion of the public. One of the services that I offered as part of my financial practice was insurance. So part of the time, in a manner of speaking, I was an insurance salesman.
I spent a good deal of my time, vis a vis insurance, debunking the asinine rhetoric from the likes of Dave Ramsey and Suze Orman. I know plenty of you folks love your helpful talking heads on TV or radio, but they have their own set of biases just like the rest of us. Educating people about the realities of permanent life insurance, the various options and cost structures involved, was important work as far as I'm concerned. People still had an inclination to choose term insurance for various reasons, mainly the low price, but at least I made sure that they understood their options.
Another topic about which I regularly had to educate people was long term care. Among the many clients that I acquired at American Express and then later at MetLife, very few chose to purchase LTC policies from me. As was the case with the life insurance though, every one of my clients understood the topic very thoroughly. (I never claimed to make anybody rich, but I sure as hell tried to make them smarter.) This is a part of the medical care/insurance market that is poorly understood and people are, as a result, poorly prepared.
My buddy Mr. Pedro is still staying at the rehab facility at Wyandotte Hospital. It has been determined that he suffered a minor stroke roughly a month ago. This was what led to his fall at home, his trip to the hospital, and his subsequent difficulties. After the hospital had him stabilized and safe, he was transferred to the rehab unit to begin working on his strength and coordination. The goal is to get him back home, with the ability to use a toilet and feed himself and so forth. He's making noticeable progress toward this end.
Mr. Pedro has a top-notch supplemental insurance package to go along with his Medicare, so the costs of his hospital stay have been well covered. In related news, the hospital wants him out. Funny little thing about Medicare - it sucks for the taxpayer, it sucks for the doctor, and it sucks for the hospital. No wonder the old folks seem to love it so much. Since the money coming in tends to be less than the market would dictate, hospitals don't want people lingering any longer than necessary.
So where do you go when you're 97 years old, you can't fully care for yourself, and your son just had his hip replaced, rendering him incapable of fully caring for himself at the moment? You go to a nursing home for skilled rehabilitation services, of course. And how do you pay for it? Medicare, obviously. (Unless you're one of the few who has LTC coverage, but we'll get back to that soon enough.) The Medicare coverage will carry you through for twenty days. Then, assuming that you can get your doctor's approval and afford the ~$130 daily copayment, it'll go for up to 80 more days. Those Medicare supplemental policies sure do come in handy for filling that 21-100 day gap, even if our president likes to bitch incessantly about the companies that provide them. Since Mr. Pedro has such a policy, he doesn't need to worry about the copayment. So he's covered on the insurance end, at least for now.
Now then, what about the nursing homes? The social worker at the hospital, as far as I can tell, has one job. Her job is to get the guy out of the hospital. ♫You don't have to go home but you can't stay here...♫ She called my buddy the reverand this morning and told him that she had everything lined up for his father to go to a local nursing home. The reverand, dealing with his own recovery from hip surgery and the stress of his father's predicament, was relieved to hear the news. Relieved until I got to his house this morning, that is.
I've spent some time as a pizza delivery man in this area. I started at Pizza Hut in Taylor while I was in college. Then I became the boss at Pizza Hut in Livonia, so I didn't deliver anymore. Then I left Pizza Hut for a while and worked with a buddy at Papa Romano's in Southgate. Then, for a brief time, I was delivering pizzas for another buddy's place in Wyandotte. I ultimately wound up managing the place in Wyandotte, then moving on into the corporate world and such, but there was a period of time during which I delivered virtually everywhere in Southgate, Wyandotte, and the surrounding communities. You know who orders a lot of pizza? Nursing home workers. I've seen 'em all, man. Of particular note - I've seen the nursing home where the social worker wanted to send Mr. Pedro. I've seen the workers there and the way that they interact with the patients. Oh hell no.
I had spent a lot of time last night, during which I should have been sleeping, compiling a list of places that I thought might be worth the Pedro boys' consideration. My intent was to learn whatever I could about the various options available and then do a little leg work today to get a feel for what's out there. I didn't have to work today and my unfortunate lodger has been serving as a de facto aid worker for the two old guys, so the two of us headed over to the reverand's house this morning. We had a pretty good idea regarding how we would approach our fact-finding mission, but we're not part of the Pedro family so we didn't want to do anything that would appear as overstepping our bounds.
This is when the reverand shared his "wonderful" news from the social worker. I found myself in a bit of a pickle. By nature, I'm not one to tell other people how to conduct their personal affairs. If this was the place where Mr. Pedro would be going and it made his son happy, then so be it. On the other hand though... fuck that.
This guy survived a flu epidemic that killed three members of his immediate family. He worked in a coal mine when he was eight years old. He boxed against coal miners as a teenager, in order to earn a few bucks to help feed his family. He was married faithfully to his wife for more than seventy years until her passing earlier this year. With a wife and two kids at home, he packed up and joined the army after Pearl Harbor. He jumped out of airplanes into shark-infested waters off the Phillipines. He charged into a cave and killed a band of Japanese soldiers who had ambushed his buddies. He was a high-ranking official in the labor movement during the post-WWII era (and perhaps knew a thing or two about the movement's seedy underside as well). He sparred in the ring against Jake LaMotta. He was on a first name basis with Jimmy Hoffa. He became a friend of mine many years ago and oftentimes, without me having any idea how he knew what he knew, he was there to lend a hand before I even thought to ask. This guy is one of the most incredible people that I've ever met. Fuck that. I wasn't going to keep my mouth shut this time around.
I made it clear that these aren't my decisions to make, but my roommate and I asked the reverand not to act too quickly with respect to the nursing home situation. We offered to spend the day visiting the places on my list and then report back with whatever we found. Much to my pleasant surprise, the reverand didn't hesitate to call the social worker at the hospital and put the brakes on everything. So that's how I spent my day off today - driving around to various locations and touring facilities, talking with their admissions staffs, and so on. It was a pretty productive day once all was said and done.
When it was time for my roommate to call the hospital and order Mr. Pedro's dinner (one of his de facto duties these days), we decided instead to pick up some mostaccioli from Roma Pizzeria and deliver it ourselves. Whether his rehab caused him to work up a bigger appetite or whether he was just glad to see that we brought him some good food, the old man ate more than he has in recent memory. The whole order of pasta was gone. His fruit plate from the hospital was gone. A big bowl of fresh berries that we brought from Kroger was gone. His bowl of Jell-o for dessert was gone. It may seem like a minor detail, but we were pleasantly surprised to see our old buddy chowing like he did. Perhaps it's a sign that he's getting back to being himself again.
After hanging out and sharing stories for a while, we headed back to Lincoln Park to check on the other patient. The reverand's post-op hip pain seems to be getting better, so that's good. And he was exceedingly grateful for the research that we had done throughout the course of the day. Given his own medical condition, the stress of having his father hanging in limbo has certainly been wearing on him. Some of the best facilities are essentially full at the moment, but he's going to review our findings and present his own list of three choices to the social worker tomorrow morning. As nearly as I can understand, the hospital may be inclined to let his father hang around for an extra few days if a preferred facility expects to have a bed opening up at some point in the next week. We'll see how it all turns out from here, but things are looking up for now. That's a start.
I told you that story so I could tell you this story. Mr. Pedro should be able to get back to a somewhat normal state within a month or two. Then he'll come back home, Lord willing, and resume his life of watching the news, helping his friends, and telling people stories about the old days. He's fortunate enough to have a son living at home who can help him with the tasks that he can't do alone. It looks like things will be okay for a while.
What happens though if he falls into a state where he will no longer be able to care for himself with his son's help? As much as nobody wants to entertain the thought, what if he has to go somewhere for long term care on a permanent basis? Here's what happens, generally. Unless he can afford the ~$70,000 a year for a decent nursing home, his only option will be Medicaid. His home, one car, personal belongings, and $2,000 will be off-limits. Aside from that, his assets will have to be used to pay for the nursing home. His pension payments and Social Security payments will have to be used to pay for the nursing home. He'll have to accept whatever facility in the local area has an open bed for Medicaid patients. To whatever extent Medicare underpays providers, Medicaid is even worse, so most of the better facilities have few or no beds available for Medicaid patients. He'll live out his years in whatever conditions 'the system' is able to provide, maybe good, maybe bad. His children and grandchildren won't inherit nearly as much as they should from such an impressive lifetime of work.
This won't necessarily be the way things go. Maybe the old man will live happily for several more years and then check out one night in his sleep. There's no way to know, but for too many families the story ends on a more sour note. We have a population that sees fewer children being born and more people living longer. We have a political system designed to destroy any hope of a sensible role for immigration (one side saying anything goes and the other saying shut it down), meaning that we'll continue to grow older as a society. Nevermind whatever you've already heard about health care and baby boomers, the pressures on the long term care industry are going to be immense. Quality is likely to decrease. Demand and competition for placement in the best facilities is likely to cause prices to skyrocket. Most of us are going to be caught with our pants down.
It's terribly expensive if you're already over 50 and it's still awfully expensive if you're under 50, but long term care insurance is something that each of you really should make sure you understand. Maybe you can afford it or maybe you can't. Maybe you'll be cool with the CLASS Act's (fairly small, for such high premiums) daily stipend for in-home care or maybe you'll want something better. Maybe you want to roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may. Maybe you'll get a hotshot attorney that can shield your assets from Medicaid and you'll still manage to land in a decent home. I don't know any of you as well as I know Mr. Pedro, so I'll revert now to my general tendency not to tell people how to live their lives. Do whatever makes you happy, but in my opinion you should at least have some idea of what that "whatever" will be.
I spent a good deal of my time, vis a vis insurance, debunking the asinine rhetoric from the likes of Dave Ramsey and Suze Orman. I know plenty of you folks love your helpful talking heads on TV or radio, but they have their own set of biases just like the rest of us. Educating people about the realities of permanent life insurance, the various options and cost structures involved, was important work as far as I'm concerned. People still had an inclination to choose term insurance for various reasons, mainly the low price, but at least I made sure that they understood their options.
Another topic about which I regularly had to educate people was long term care. Among the many clients that I acquired at American Express and then later at MetLife, very few chose to purchase LTC policies from me. As was the case with the life insurance though, every one of my clients understood the topic very thoroughly. (I never claimed to make anybody rich, but I sure as hell tried to make them smarter.) This is a part of the medical care/insurance market that is poorly understood and people are, as a result, poorly prepared.
My buddy Mr. Pedro is still staying at the rehab facility at Wyandotte Hospital. It has been determined that he suffered a minor stroke roughly a month ago. This was what led to his fall at home, his trip to the hospital, and his subsequent difficulties. After the hospital had him stabilized and safe, he was transferred to the rehab unit to begin working on his strength and coordination. The goal is to get him back home, with the ability to use a toilet and feed himself and so forth. He's making noticeable progress toward this end.
Mr. Pedro has a top-notch supplemental insurance package to go along with his Medicare, so the costs of his hospital stay have been well covered. In related news, the hospital wants him out. Funny little thing about Medicare - it sucks for the taxpayer, it sucks for the doctor, and it sucks for the hospital. No wonder the old folks seem to love it so much. Since the money coming in tends to be less than the market would dictate, hospitals don't want people lingering any longer than necessary.
So where do you go when you're 97 years old, you can't fully care for yourself, and your son just had his hip replaced, rendering him incapable of fully caring for himself at the moment? You go to a nursing home for skilled rehabilitation services, of course. And how do you pay for it? Medicare, obviously. (Unless you're one of the few who has LTC coverage, but we'll get back to that soon enough.) The Medicare coverage will carry you through for twenty days. Then, assuming that you can get your doctor's approval and afford the ~$130 daily copayment, it'll go for up to 80 more days. Those Medicare supplemental policies sure do come in handy for filling that 21-100 day gap, even if our president likes to bitch incessantly about the companies that provide them. Since Mr. Pedro has such a policy, he doesn't need to worry about the copayment. So he's covered on the insurance end, at least for now.
Now then, what about the nursing homes? The social worker at the hospital, as far as I can tell, has one job. Her job is to get the guy out of the hospital. ♫You don't have to go home but you can't stay here...♫ She called my buddy the reverand this morning and told him that she had everything lined up for his father to go to a local nursing home. The reverand, dealing with his own recovery from hip surgery and the stress of his father's predicament, was relieved to hear the news. Relieved until I got to his house this morning, that is.
I've spent some time as a pizza delivery man in this area. I started at Pizza Hut in Taylor while I was in college. Then I became the boss at Pizza Hut in Livonia, so I didn't deliver anymore. Then I left Pizza Hut for a while and worked with a buddy at Papa Romano's in Southgate. Then, for a brief time, I was delivering pizzas for another buddy's place in Wyandotte. I ultimately wound up managing the place in Wyandotte, then moving on into the corporate world and such, but there was a period of time during which I delivered virtually everywhere in Southgate, Wyandotte, and the surrounding communities. You know who orders a lot of pizza? Nursing home workers. I've seen 'em all, man. Of particular note - I've seen the nursing home where the social worker wanted to send Mr. Pedro. I've seen the workers there and the way that they interact with the patients. Oh hell no.
I had spent a lot of time last night, during which I should have been sleeping, compiling a list of places that I thought might be worth the Pedro boys' consideration. My intent was to learn whatever I could about the various options available and then do a little leg work today to get a feel for what's out there. I didn't have to work today and my unfortunate lodger has been serving as a de facto aid worker for the two old guys, so the two of us headed over to the reverand's house this morning. We had a pretty good idea regarding how we would approach our fact-finding mission, but we're not part of the Pedro family so we didn't want to do anything that would appear as overstepping our bounds.
This is when the reverand shared his "wonderful" news from the social worker. I found myself in a bit of a pickle. By nature, I'm not one to tell other people how to conduct their personal affairs. If this was the place where Mr. Pedro would be going and it made his son happy, then so be it. On the other hand though... fuck that.
This guy survived a flu epidemic that killed three members of his immediate family. He worked in a coal mine when he was eight years old. He boxed against coal miners as a teenager, in order to earn a few bucks to help feed his family. He was married faithfully to his wife for more than seventy years until her passing earlier this year. With a wife and two kids at home, he packed up and joined the army after Pearl Harbor. He jumped out of airplanes into shark-infested waters off the Phillipines. He charged into a cave and killed a band of Japanese soldiers who had ambushed his buddies. He was a high-ranking official in the labor movement during the post-WWII era (and perhaps knew a thing or two about the movement's seedy underside as well). He sparred in the ring against Jake LaMotta. He was on a first name basis with Jimmy Hoffa. He became a friend of mine many years ago and oftentimes, without me having any idea how he knew what he knew, he was there to lend a hand before I even thought to ask. This guy is one of the most incredible people that I've ever met. Fuck that. I wasn't going to keep my mouth shut this time around.
I made it clear that these aren't my decisions to make, but my roommate and I asked the reverand not to act too quickly with respect to the nursing home situation. We offered to spend the day visiting the places on my list and then report back with whatever we found. Much to my pleasant surprise, the reverand didn't hesitate to call the social worker at the hospital and put the brakes on everything. So that's how I spent my day off today - driving around to various locations and touring facilities, talking with their admissions staffs, and so on. It was a pretty productive day once all was said and done.
When it was time for my roommate to call the hospital and order Mr. Pedro's dinner (one of his de facto duties these days), we decided instead to pick up some mostaccioli from Roma Pizzeria and deliver it ourselves. Whether his rehab caused him to work up a bigger appetite or whether he was just glad to see that we brought him some good food, the old man ate more than he has in recent memory. The whole order of pasta was gone. His fruit plate from the hospital was gone. A big bowl of fresh berries that we brought from Kroger was gone. His bowl of Jell-o for dessert was gone. It may seem like a minor detail, but we were pleasantly surprised to see our old buddy chowing like he did. Perhaps it's a sign that he's getting back to being himself again.
After hanging out and sharing stories for a while, we headed back to Lincoln Park to check on the other patient. The reverand's post-op hip pain seems to be getting better, so that's good. And he was exceedingly grateful for the research that we had done throughout the course of the day. Given his own medical condition, the stress of having his father hanging in limbo has certainly been wearing on him. Some of the best facilities are essentially full at the moment, but he's going to review our findings and present his own list of three choices to the social worker tomorrow morning. As nearly as I can understand, the hospital may be inclined to let his father hang around for an extra few days if a preferred facility expects to have a bed opening up at some point in the next week. We'll see how it all turns out from here, but things are looking up for now. That's a start.
I told you that story so I could tell you this story. Mr. Pedro should be able to get back to a somewhat normal state within a month or two. Then he'll come back home, Lord willing, and resume his life of watching the news, helping his friends, and telling people stories about the old days. He's fortunate enough to have a son living at home who can help him with the tasks that he can't do alone. It looks like things will be okay for a while.
What happens though if he falls into a state where he will no longer be able to care for himself with his son's help? As much as nobody wants to entertain the thought, what if he has to go somewhere for long term care on a permanent basis? Here's what happens, generally. Unless he can afford the ~$70,000 a year for a decent nursing home, his only option will be Medicaid. His home, one car, personal belongings, and $2,000 will be off-limits. Aside from that, his assets will have to be used to pay for the nursing home. His pension payments and Social Security payments will have to be used to pay for the nursing home. He'll have to accept whatever facility in the local area has an open bed for Medicaid patients. To whatever extent Medicare underpays providers, Medicaid is even worse, so most of the better facilities have few or no beds available for Medicaid patients. He'll live out his years in whatever conditions 'the system' is able to provide, maybe good, maybe bad. His children and grandchildren won't inherit nearly as much as they should from such an impressive lifetime of work.
This won't necessarily be the way things go. Maybe the old man will live happily for several more years and then check out one night in his sleep. There's no way to know, but for too many families the story ends on a more sour note. We have a population that sees fewer children being born and more people living longer. We have a political system designed to destroy any hope of a sensible role for immigration (one side saying anything goes and the other saying shut it down), meaning that we'll continue to grow older as a society. Nevermind whatever you've already heard about health care and baby boomers, the pressures on the long term care industry are going to be immense. Quality is likely to decrease. Demand and competition for placement in the best facilities is likely to cause prices to skyrocket. Most of us are going to be caught with our pants down.
It's terribly expensive if you're already over 50 and it's still awfully expensive if you're under 50, but long term care insurance is something that each of you really should make sure you understand. Maybe you can afford it or maybe you can't. Maybe you'll be cool with the CLASS Act's (fairly small, for such high premiums) daily stipend for in-home care or maybe you'll want something better. Maybe you want to roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may. Maybe you'll get a hotshot attorney that can shield your assets from Medicaid and you'll still manage to land in a decent home. I don't know any of you as well as I know Mr. Pedro, so I'll revert now to my general tendency not to tell people how to live their lives. Do whatever makes you happy, but in my opinion you should at least have some idea of what that "whatever" will be.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Washington, D.C.
In related news, I went out with some friends and watched the game tonight. I said before kickoff that it was time to watch my 'Skins humiliate themselves in front of a national audience. When I said 'humiliate,' I was thinking that they would lose by a couple of touchdowns. Little did I know that they would set several records for abject suckitude. But hey, if you're gonna suck, you might as well suck more than anybody ever has. Good job guys.
$78 million. Dear sweet Lord.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Bankruptcy Proceedings
A few things transpired this evening that may have provided a way out of this little malaise that I've encountered. First was that I heard a song while I was at the gym and the words actually made sense. (Yeah, it was a Miley Cyrus song. So what?) Second was that I drove past the GM Powertrain plant in Romulus on my way home. Third was that I logged onto my computer when I got home and reviewed some of the correspondence from you fine folks. So how do we combine these three disparate influences into a way that this blog can seem like a worthwhile use of my time? Simple. In honor of the Motor City, Fenian Godfather Inc. is filing for Chapter 11 reorganization.
This isn't a financial bankruptcy, of course. You folks have been kind enough that it only took two and a half years for the first hundred dollars to reach my bank account. Since we have an operating budget of zero dollars here, I project that we'll be fiscally solvent for quite some time. No, this bankruptcy is one of inspiration. When it's hard to tell one day from the next, I simply don't have anything worthwhile to say every day. Therefore, on most days, I won't say anything. That part is simple enough.
The part that remains unresolved will be the new operating model. We'll just have to play it by ear for a while. Whenever the mood strikes, something will appear on the page and then you can judge for yourselves whether or not it makes any sense. We'll have to change the name of the blog, of course, in order to indemnify FGI against any liability for transgressions committed prior to this shakeup. I'll go ahead and slap a new sign out front tonight. Then we'll have to wipe out all debts owed to prior stakeholders and have the taxpayers bail out our labor unions. (I'm not even sure how that part translates into our little metaphor here, but I know it has to be done.) And I'll be appointing a new board to oversee the operations at our various enterprises, but you won't need to worry about that part. It's all under control.
A few Brett Favre wisecracks are probably inevitable now, but rest assured that nobody will be getting a picture of my pecker in a text message.
Economics as a potential blog topic? Sure, I can see some potential...
This isn't a financial bankruptcy, of course. You folks have been kind enough that it only took two and a half years for the first hundred dollars to reach my bank account. Since we have an operating budget of zero dollars here, I project that we'll be fiscally solvent for quite some time. No, this bankruptcy is one of inspiration. When it's hard to tell one day from the next, I simply don't have anything worthwhile to say every day. Therefore, on most days, I won't say anything. That part is simple enough.
The part that remains unresolved will be the new operating model. We'll just have to play it by ear for a while. Whenever the mood strikes, something will appear on the page and then you can judge for yourselves whether or not it makes any sense. We'll have to change the name of the blog, of course, in order to indemnify FGI against any liability for transgressions committed prior to this shakeup. I'll go ahead and slap a new sign out front tonight. Then we'll have to wipe out all debts owed to prior stakeholders and have the taxpayers bail out our labor unions. (I'm not even sure how that part translates into our little metaphor here, but I know it has to be done.) And I'll be appointing a new board to oversee the operations at our various enterprises, but you won't need to worry about that part. It's all under control.
A few Brett Favre wisecracks are probably inevitable now, but rest assured that nobody will be getting a picture of my pecker in a text message.
Economics as a potential blog topic? Sure, I can see some potential...
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
11/10/10
Hmm, I'm not sure where we go next on this little voyage of ours. 90% of the days at work now are uneventful. I don't travel the country any longer and I've gotten the hang of the milk delivery thing for the most part, so there aren't a lot of interesting tales on that front. I've learned to accept my boring social life for the most part, so there aren't a lot of interesting tales on that front. I earn a comfortable enough living for the most part, so there aren't a lot of interesting tales on that front. My thoughts and opinions on the world have been fleshed out for the most part, so there aren't a lot of interesting tales on that front.
Perhaps this is the inevitable descent that this sort of blog was bound to make sooner or later. In any case, we've made the descent. There appears to be nothing left to say. And this, my friends, is when it's time to pack it in. Thanks for the chats over the last few years. It's been fun.
Perhaps this is the inevitable descent that this sort of blog was bound to make sooner or later. In any case, we've made the descent. There appears to be nothing left to say. And this, my friends, is when it's time to pack it in. Thanks for the chats over the last few years. It's been fun.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
11/9/10
Looks like we're back to this point again. There's really nothing to say. Milk was delivered. Weights were lifted. The world spun around.
Monday, November 8, 2010
11/8/10
Did you know that you can lose half a tooth? I always thought it was more of an all-or-nothing proposal, but apparently not. Half of one of my bicuspids is gone. Just broke right off while I was eating a boneless chicken wing. I'm not really sure how that sort of thing happens, but my guess is that the tooth had been cracked at some point in time and gradually decayed from within. This would explain the toothache situation from a while ago. Oddly enough, it doesn't hurt now. Not even a little. I would have thought that having a tooth split right in half would involve at least some pain. My flossing and antiseptic treatments managed to chase off the toothache and keep it away, but it looks like the damage had already been done. Oh well, one more thing on the list. I haven't been to a dentist in several years, so I'm guessing this won't be a one-shot sort of affair. There are probably other issues to address. Between my teeth and my back, I may need to start dedicating my Mondays and Thursdays to office visits for a while. Still no insurance card though, so we'll cross that bridge next week... or whatever.
Lazy day today - busy day tomorrow. And such is the weekly cycle of the milkman. I'll have one trip to the Bay City area and another to Toledo. A few hundred dollars added to the dental surgery and spinal pain relief fund, I suppose.
Lazy day today - busy day tomorrow. And such is the weekly cycle of the milkman. I'll have one trip to the Bay City area and another to Toledo. A few hundred dollars added to the dental surgery and spinal pain relief fund, I suppose.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
11/7/10
Up is down, black is white, in is out. For one reason or another, things were upside down today. The weekend dispatcher called me yesterday to ask if I would have a problem starting today's shift at 3pm. Apparently my start window ends at 2pm. I had no idea. I've started later than 2pm plenty of times, but whatever. I told her that it was fine, so I started today at 3pm.
Generally speaking, my trips to the Flint area take place in the afternoon and my runs to the Toledo area take place in the evening/night. Things were flipped around today. My first run took me to the Toledo area for three stops and my second run took me to the Flint area for two stops. One last stop in Livonia, on the way back to the dairy, was thrown in to round out the day.
In basic terms, I don't guess that it matters much whether I go to Toledo or Flint with my first load. Miles are miles and stops are stops. I get paid the same either way. The usual interaction with the receiving people was disrupted though. Since the northern stores tend to get their deliveries first, they tend to be staffed by the appropriate people earlier in the day. The southern stores are more accustomed to receiving deliveries at night. My first run - the one to the Toledo area - went quickly and smoothly. The dairy receiving guy at the second stop didn't arrive until a few minutes after I got there, but I was rotating my third stop to the back of the trailer at the time, so I was taking a few extra minutes of my own. All was well.
After I made a fuel stop and then got back to Livonia for my second load, it was time to head northward and see what was what. My first stop was in Flushing. Nobody answered the door. Bad sign. After standing outside and freezing my balls off for a few minutes, I walked around to the front entrance. It was only 10pm so the store was still open. I made my way back to the loading dock - nobody around. I went into the dairy cooler - nobody around. I walked through the back receiving area of the store - nobody around. What the fuck, man?
Eventually I found a couple of kids in Kroger shirts wandering down one of the store aisles. I asked them if they knew who was going to take the milk delivery? "Uhh, I don't think so. The dairy guy left." No, I explained, this wasn't a negotiation. Somebody most certainly would be taking the damned milk. I simply needed to know who it was gonna be.
After a bit of back and forth, one of the wandering kids gave in and said that he would pull the milk into the dairy cooler. Fair enough. Given the way the stops were scheduled, I made the unusual decision to rotate this trailer at the first stop. As a general rule of thumb, it's good to rotate the empties to the front of the trailer (and the milk to the back) whenever there are more pallets of empties than there are of milk. In tonight's case, it was roughly 50/50 but I knew that my second stop, the one in Flint, wouldn't provide much working space. Better safe than sorry. So I had to pull out the nine pallets that I was delivering to the Flushing store plus the nine pallets for my other two stores. Then I had to shove the Flushing store's empties into the nose of the trailer. Then I had to put the milk for the last two stops back into the rear of the trailer. That took a while.
The last two stops, on the other hand, took fifteen minutes each. That's the upside to getting everything rotated. I finished up before 2am, so we'll call it an efficient day at the office. My shoulder workout afterward also was quick and intense, although the cardio portion of the deal is still a little tricky. Essentially I can go until the pain in my calf gets too bad, then stop and lift weights for a while, then go again until the pain gets too bad. Probably not the best arrangement in the world, but at least my shoulders got blasted pretty well.
I have the day off tomorrow and nothing on the agenda as of yet, so maybe I'll get to stay in bed all day or something. Not that this would make for a very exciting day off, but comfort tends to trump excitement these days.
Generally speaking, my trips to the Flint area take place in the afternoon and my runs to the Toledo area take place in the evening/night. Things were flipped around today. My first run took me to the Toledo area for three stops and my second run took me to the Flint area for two stops. One last stop in Livonia, on the way back to the dairy, was thrown in to round out the day.
In basic terms, I don't guess that it matters much whether I go to Toledo or Flint with my first load. Miles are miles and stops are stops. I get paid the same either way. The usual interaction with the receiving people was disrupted though. Since the northern stores tend to get their deliveries first, they tend to be staffed by the appropriate people earlier in the day. The southern stores are more accustomed to receiving deliveries at night. My first run - the one to the Toledo area - went quickly and smoothly. The dairy receiving guy at the second stop didn't arrive until a few minutes after I got there, but I was rotating my third stop to the back of the trailer at the time, so I was taking a few extra minutes of my own. All was well.
After I made a fuel stop and then got back to Livonia for my second load, it was time to head northward and see what was what. My first stop was in Flushing. Nobody answered the door. Bad sign. After standing outside and freezing my balls off for a few minutes, I walked around to the front entrance. It was only 10pm so the store was still open. I made my way back to the loading dock - nobody around. I went into the dairy cooler - nobody around. I walked through the back receiving area of the store - nobody around. What the fuck, man?
Eventually I found a couple of kids in Kroger shirts wandering down one of the store aisles. I asked them if they knew who was going to take the milk delivery? "Uhh, I don't think so. The dairy guy left." No, I explained, this wasn't a negotiation. Somebody most certainly would be taking the damned milk. I simply needed to know who it was gonna be.
After a bit of back and forth, one of the wandering kids gave in and said that he would pull the milk into the dairy cooler. Fair enough. Given the way the stops were scheduled, I made the unusual decision to rotate this trailer at the first stop. As a general rule of thumb, it's good to rotate the empties to the front of the trailer (and the milk to the back) whenever there are more pallets of empties than there are of milk. In tonight's case, it was roughly 50/50 but I knew that my second stop, the one in Flint, wouldn't provide much working space. Better safe than sorry. So I had to pull out the nine pallets that I was delivering to the Flushing store plus the nine pallets for my other two stores. Then I had to shove the Flushing store's empties into the nose of the trailer. Then I had to put the milk for the last two stops back into the rear of the trailer. That took a while.
The last two stops, on the other hand, took fifteen minutes each. That's the upside to getting everything rotated. I finished up before 2am, so we'll call it an efficient day at the office. My shoulder workout afterward also was quick and intense, although the cardio portion of the deal is still a little tricky. Essentially I can go until the pain in my calf gets too bad, then stop and lift weights for a while, then go again until the pain gets too bad. Probably not the best arrangement in the world, but at least my shoulders got blasted pretty well.
I have the day off tomorrow and nothing on the agenda as of yet, so maybe I'll get to stay in bed all day or something. Not that this would make for a very exciting day off, but comfort tends to trump excitement these days.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
11/6/10
"Just what I needed..." How many times in your life have you used that expression? Quite a few times, I'll bet. I'm gonna go ahead and use it here. Tonight was, indeed, just what I needed. My work shift only took six hours, so I was home by 8pm for the first time in a long time. My unfortunate lodger has gone to Ohio for some sort of family gathering. Today has 25 hours for some reason that I'm not sure has any validity in the year 2010, but whatever. I'll take the extra hour. And my start time for tomorrow is 3:15pm, a bit later than usual, meaning that I don't have to get out of bed until I damn well please. I have draft cider in the fridge, pizza rolls in the oven, and a heating pad under my ass. Ahhh... Just what I needed.
Friday, November 5, 2010
11/5/10
Life is nothing but double-edged swords. For instance, my weight training has progressed somewhat well in spite of my... situation. Each time I reach a given number of repetitions of a given lift, I bump the weight upward for the next time. As this process is repeated week after week, I actually get stronger. Go figure.
So I was sitting there tonight, taking a break between sets of hammer curls. A fella sat down nearby and started doing preacher curls with a 40 pound barbell. I looked at the floor and saw that I was using a pair of 70 pound dumbbells at the time. My belly is still ample enough to ensure that I won't be posing in front of a mirror in the foreseeable future, but for a moment at least I thought I was kinda strong. Then later in the workout, as I got to my overhead tricep extensions (or whatever you would call it technically - I hold an EZ bar behind my head and then straighten my elbows), my third set called for 115 pounds of weight. The heaviest pre-packaged EZ bar in the place weighs 115 pounds. If I care to go any higher, I'll have to start sliding plates onto an empty bar.
The other 'edge' of the sword, as it were, is that those heavier weights put an awful lot of strain on the tendons and joints and shit that connect everything together. After tonight's arm workout, my left elbow is killing me. This aging shit is for the birds.
Work was okay though. Two loads, five stores altogether, no worries. And today was payday. Apparently I made $1,450 last week. I know I was burned out by the time all was said and done, so I guess that sounds about right. I surely won't be invited to any high brow cocktail parties in my lifetime, but for a blue collar dude from Downriver I manage to keep the bills paid. That's enough for me.
I think I only have one load for tomorrow, but I'll have to confirm this with the dispatcher when I go in. The way that my assignment is listed on the board seems a little ambiguous. Anyhow, if it's only the one load and those damned Fighting Irish have the weekend off, I may have an enjoyable Saturday for a change.
So I was sitting there tonight, taking a break between sets of hammer curls. A fella sat down nearby and started doing preacher curls with a 40 pound barbell. I looked at the floor and saw that I was using a pair of 70 pound dumbbells at the time. My belly is still ample enough to ensure that I won't be posing in front of a mirror in the foreseeable future, but for a moment at least I thought I was kinda strong. Then later in the workout, as I got to my overhead tricep extensions (or whatever you would call it technically - I hold an EZ bar behind my head and then straighten my elbows), my third set called for 115 pounds of weight. The heaviest pre-packaged EZ bar in the place weighs 115 pounds. If I care to go any higher, I'll have to start sliding plates onto an empty bar.
The other 'edge' of the sword, as it were, is that those heavier weights put an awful lot of strain on the tendons and joints and shit that connect everything together. After tonight's arm workout, my left elbow is killing me. This aging shit is for the birds.
Work was okay though. Two loads, five stores altogether, no worries. And today was payday. Apparently I made $1,450 last week. I know I was burned out by the time all was said and done, so I guess that sounds about right. I surely won't be invited to any high brow cocktail parties in my lifetime, but for a blue collar dude from Downriver I manage to keep the bills paid. That's enough for me.
I think I only have one load for tomorrow, but I'll have to confirm this with the dispatcher when I go in. The way that my assignment is listed on the board seems a little ambiguous. Anyhow, if it's only the one load and those damned Fighting Irish have the weekend off, I may have an enjoyable Saturday for a change.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
11/4/10
Well, shit. I simply don't know. Things are supposed to get better with time, right? I slept all morning and much of the afternoon. That was nice. I took it easy all day. That should be helpful, but I wasn't feeling like a million bucks. Still though, it was good to relax for a while. It seems that the days have been far too short lately.
I went to see my old buddy in the hospital for a while. He can lift his left arm and move his left leg now, so apparently the rehab process is going well. The doctors still don't seem to know what exactly has been causing the trouble, but ole Mr. Pedro is getting better by the day. Or so I'm told.
Then I went out to dinner with Mr. Pedro's son - the reverand, and my unfortunate lodger - the non-reverand. Neither of those candyasses was willing to pick a restaurant, so I decided that we were going to Vito's. (Blog address unrelated.) When I was a kid, Vito's was the go-to place in Lincoln Park after any kind of event. Then Vito sold the place and went back to Italy, but the pizza was still awesome. Then Vito came back from Italy and bought Roma's, leaving Vito's as a competitor to Vito, but that's another story.
So anyhow, Vito's has a bit of nostalgic value for those of us from the LP. I went there many years ago with an ex-girlfriend and found that I didn't like what the new owners had done with the place. Now someone else owns the joint, so I was curious to see how the pizza would measure up. It was pretty good, all things considered, but it was no Vito's pizza. Bummer.
After a few hours back home, spent mainly reading through news headlines and such, it was time to head to the damned gym. Off we go...
I waste a lot of time. Since I have a pretty pitiful social life and I have no responsibilities to anyone, I can afford to waste as much time as I like. The weird thing is that it really bugs me to waste time unintentionally. I drove all the way out to Novi. I changed into my workout clothes. I headed upstairs. I did a quick cardio warmup. I grabbed a barbell... and... fuck!
I set down the barbell. I limped downstairs. I changed out of my workout clothes. I drove all the way home from Novi. What a waste of time. And now I feel even worse than I did before. I just can't figure this shit out.
Oh well, maybe tomorrow will bring a better outcome. I do have two loads again, which seems to be the case somewhat consistently nowadays, but they shouldn't be too tough. Three stops in the Flint area and then another two in Toledo. Maybe, assuming that I can walk upright after work, I'll get to tonight's scheduled workout, just a day late and so forth. We'll see how it goes.
Now, for the second time in recent memory, I must drink. The beers didn't really alleviate the pain last night but, as a good Irish lad, I'm confident that they'll work a little better this time around.
I went to see my old buddy in the hospital for a while. He can lift his left arm and move his left leg now, so apparently the rehab process is going well. The doctors still don't seem to know what exactly has been causing the trouble, but ole Mr. Pedro is getting better by the day. Or so I'm told.
Then I went out to dinner with Mr. Pedro's son - the reverand, and my unfortunate lodger - the non-reverand. Neither of those candyasses was willing to pick a restaurant, so I decided that we were going to Vito's. (Blog address unrelated.) When I was a kid, Vito's was the go-to place in Lincoln Park after any kind of event. Then Vito sold the place and went back to Italy, but the pizza was still awesome. Then Vito came back from Italy and bought Roma's, leaving Vito's as a competitor to Vito, but that's another story.
So anyhow, Vito's has a bit of nostalgic value for those of us from the LP. I went there many years ago with an ex-girlfriend and found that I didn't like what the new owners had done with the place. Now someone else owns the joint, so I was curious to see how the pizza would measure up. It was pretty good, all things considered, but it was no Vito's pizza. Bummer.
After a few hours back home, spent mainly reading through news headlines and such, it was time to head to the damned gym. Off we go...
I waste a lot of time. Since I have a pretty pitiful social life and I have no responsibilities to anyone, I can afford to waste as much time as I like. The weird thing is that it really bugs me to waste time unintentionally. I drove all the way out to Novi. I changed into my workout clothes. I headed upstairs. I did a quick cardio warmup. I grabbed a barbell... and... fuck!
I set down the barbell. I limped downstairs. I changed out of my workout clothes. I drove all the way home from Novi. What a waste of time. And now I feel even worse than I did before. I just can't figure this shit out.
Oh well, maybe tomorrow will bring a better outcome. I do have two loads again, which seems to be the case somewhat consistently nowadays, but they shouldn't be too tough. Three stops in the Flint area and then another two in Toledo. Maybe, assuming that I can walk upright after work, I'll get to tonight's scheduled workout, just a day late and so forth. We'll see how it goes.
Now, for the second time in recent memory, I must drink. The beers didn't really alleviate the pain last night but, as a good Irish lad, I'm confident that they'll work a little better this time around.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
11/3/10
You know what I did tonight? I took my first step on the road to 2012. I bought 96 incandescent light bulbs and put them in my storage room. (Admit it. You thought I was making some sort of political reference there. Wait, I kinda was... Nevermind.) I figure I'll stockpile a few boxes of those suckers every now and then. This way I'll be able to run some kind of black market operation when you can no longer buy a regular 20-cent light bulb in the 'Land of the Free.' My unfortunate lodger mentioned a couple of days ago that "we" needed light bulbs and toilet paper. By "we," of course, we're talking about me. I'm the guy with the job and the income, after all.
Once I wrapped up a tedious but largely uneventful four-stop milk run tonight, I stopped at Meijer to do a little shopping. You may or may not be aware of this, but I don't enjoy shopping. So I tossed one of those gigantic 2,000,000-roll packages of toilet paper in my cart. Won't be buying that stuff again for a while. Next came the light bulbs. It was $2.39 for a 12-pack. Sweet. I grabbed all eight packs that were on the shelf. I'll do it again sometime too. You can count on that much.
Aside from TP and bulbs, I just needed a few odds and ends to finish off my shopping list. Bottle of vitamins, pack of beef jerky, etc. I got everything into my car and headed home. As I was driving down I-275, I started to wonder - How many of these cheap bulbs can I store before the feds take over that aspect of my life in a couple of years? A few thousand, I think. I'm gonna shoot for a few thousand.
Given the way things have gone lately, in terms of these damned 24-hour days proving to be too short, it was nice to have a fairly short day of work. I didn't start until 3:30pm and I was done by 10:30pm. In addition, today was a scheduled day off from that Godforsaken gym. My weary body was grateful.
So... off early... no gym tonight... no need to get up tomorrow morning... yeah, I'm drinking tonight. I would have thought, back when I transitioned to local work, that I would be having beers on a frequent basis. This hasn't been the case. Not even close. The drinking occasions seem to be few and far between since I started lifting again. Even before that though, I just found that I wasn't often in the mood. I'm gonna have to work on that. Until then, let's just hope for a pain-free night with tasty refreshment. We're well on the way there...
Once I wrapped up a tedious but largely uneventful four-stop milk run tonight, I stopped at Meijer to do a little shopping. You may or may not be aware of this, but I don't enjoy shopping. So I tossed one of those gigantic 2,000,000-roll packages of toilet paper in my cart. Won't be buying that stuff again for a while. Next came the light bulbs. It was $2.39 for a 12-pack. Sweet. I grabbed all eight packs that were on the shelf. I'll do it again sometime too. You can count on that much.
Aside from TP and bulbs, I just needed a few odds and ends to finish off my shopping list. Bottle of vitamins, pack of beef jerky, etc. I got everything into my car and headed home. As I was driving down I-275, I started to wonder - How many of these cheap bulbs can I store before the feds take over that aspect of my life in a couple of years? A few thousand, I think. I'm gonna shoot for a few thousand.
Given the way things have gone lately, in terms of these damned 24-hour days proving to be too short, it was nice to have a fairly short day of work. I didn't start until 3:30pm and I was done by 10:30pm. In addition, today was a scheduled day off from that Godforsaken gym. My weary body was grateful.
So... off early... no gym tonight... no need to get up tomorrow morning... yeah, I'm drinking tonight. I would have thought, back when I transitioned to local work, that I would be having beers on a frequent basis. This hasn't been the case. Not even close. The drinking occasions seem to be few and far between since I started lifting again. Even before that though, I just found that I wasn't often in the mood. I'm gonna have to work on that. Until then, let's just hope for a pain-free night with tasty refreshment. We're well on the way there...
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
11/2/10
♫ Runnin low...
Runnin' on empty
Runnin low...
Runnin' blind
Runnin' low...
Runnin' into the sun but I'm running behind ♫
I don't know man. I seem to get about as much rest as I always have. Work has been busier lately, but nothing terribly extreme. The gym workouts are pretty intense, but I've skipped an extra day here and there since, well, you know what. I'm not sure that there's any simple explanation. I'm just plain worn out. Not necessarily physically tired, but worn out just the same. I don't even care if this makes any sense. I'm too worn out to try to explain it any further.
I recall, back before I was worn out, sitting in my dorm's TV lounge in November of 1994. I have never been much of a TV watcher, but I always have been something of a political junkie. The more opinionated cable news phenomenon didn't exist back then, so I was just following election results on one of the networks. Gingrich and his crew swept into power by gaining 54 seats that night. My core principles haven't changed since I was a little kid, but I would have to say that my issue-by-issue views have become quite a bit more refined since that year. Back then I just knew that I thought Bill Clinton was a douchesquirt, so I rather enjoyed watching him rebuked by the American voters.
I had my FloTV in my car tonight, so I flipped it on and checked out some of the coverage before my workout. Now that my viewpoint has had several years of development, this shit isn't all that exciting or inspiring anymore. If these Republican characters do what they said they will do, the voters will toss them out before long. Reduce the deficit, eh? "Keep the government out of my Medicare!" Morons. The Democrats pretty much did what Obama said they would do, after all, and look how that went. Maybe hopenchange was actually just a catchy slogan or something. Or perhaps when people got all fired up about all this awesome free shit that was gonna happen, they should have taken out a calculator and done the math. I don't know man. Maybe I'm just worn out.
Dingell won again though. I guess this is pretty exciting news. My union sent me a letter telling me to vote for him, so I'm sure this means he really knows what it's like to be a working fella in Michigan. I mean, he only went to Washington 55 years ago. That's practically yesterday.
Speaking of yesterday... or something... I think it's tomorrow already. Two long milk runs, some election watching, and a long workout will sure as hell burn through some hours. Better get a little sleep. Only one run tomorrow thus far, but I have other stuff to do beforehand. I'm worn out man.
Runnin' on empty
Runnin low...
Runnin' blind
Runnin' low...
Runnin' into the sun but I'm running behind ♫
I don't know man. I seem to get about as much rest as I always have. Work has been busier lately, but nothing terribly extreme. The gym workouts are pretty intense, but I've skipped an extra day here and there since, well, you know what. I'm not sure that there's any simple explanation. I'm just plain worn out. Not necessarily physically tired, but worn out just the same. I don't even care if this makes any sense. I'm too worn out to try to explain it any further.
I recall, back before I was worn out, sitting in my dorm's TV lounge in November of 1994. I have never been much of a TV watcher, but I always have been something of a political junkie. The more opinionated cable news phenomenon didn't exist back then, so I was just following election results on one of the networks. Gingrich and his crew swept into power by gaining 54 seats that night. My core principles haven't changed since I was a little kid, but I would have to say that my issue-by-issue views have become quite a bit more refined since that year. Back then I just knew that I thought Bill Clinton was a douchesquirt, so I rather enjoyed watching him rebuked by the American voters.
I had my FloTV in my car tonight, so I flipped it on and checked out some of the coverage before my workout. Now that my viewpoint has had several years of development, this shit isn't all that exciting or inspiring anymore. If these Republican characters do what they said they will do, the voters will toss them out before long. Reduce the deficit, eh? "Keep the government out of my Medicare!" Morons. The Democrats pretty much did what Obama said they would do, after all, and look how that went. Maybe hopenchange was actually just a catchy slogan or something. Or perhaps when people got all fired up about all this awesome free shit that was gonna happen, they should have taken out a calculator and done the math. I don't know man. Maybe I'm just worn out.
Dingell won again though. I guess this is pretty exciting news. My union sent me a letter telling me to vote for him, so I'm sure this means he really knows what it's like to be a working fella in Michigan. I mean, he only went to Washington 55 years ago. That's practically yesterday.
Speaking of yesterday... or something... I think it's tomorrow already. Two long milk runs, some election watching, and a long workout will sure as hell burn through some hours. Better get a little sleep. Only one run tomorrow thus far, but I have other stuff to do beforehand. I'm worn out man.
Monday, November 1, 2010
11/1/10
I seem to encounter an endless variety of reminders of the general boredom and drift that define my life in its present circumstance. I spent today running errands, washing some clothes, and having dinner with my parents. All the usual stuff that tends to comprise a Monday off, of course. You know what thought kept entering my head though? I can't wait for Saturday because I really could use that extra hour. Seriously. A new low on the excitement meter? Perhaps, my friends. Perhaps.
There won't be enough hours in the day tomorrow. I'm already pretty sure about that. I have to get up in the morning and go sell myself out to big corporate interests... or whatever. Then I have to get the oil changed on my car. In order to preserve the warranty on my new engine, the first oil change has to be done within 1,500 miles. We're getting pretty close. Then I have to head to Livonia for a noon pull and a $300 day on the job. First scheduled $300 Tuesday in quite a while, so I guess we could say that things are picking up in the dairy biz. Then off to the gym. I skipped tonight's workout, for reasons that we probably already know but I'd rather not discuss, so I'll definitely have to lift some weights tomorrow night. Yeah, tomorrow is gonna be a long one.
We'll leave you tonight with a little palate cleanser to warm things up for the conclusion to a grueling campaign season. Some guys stopped by last weekend's Comedy Central shindig with a video camera and a sign. Asking the important questions... and getting the important answers.
There won't be enough hours in the day tomorrow. I'm already pretty sure about that. I have to get up in the morning and go sell myself out to big corporate interests... or whatever. Then I have to get the oil changed on my car. In order to preserve the warranty on my new engine, the first oil change has to be done within 1,500 miles. We're getting pretty close. Then I have to head to Livonia for a noon pull and a $300 day on the job. First scheduled $300 Tuesday in quite a while, so I guess we could say that things are picking up in the dairy biz. Then off to the gym. I skipped tonight's workout, for reasons that we probably already know but I'd rather not discuss, so I'll definitely have to lift some weights tomorrow night. Yeah, tomorrow is gonna be a long one.
We'll leave you tonight with a little palate cleanser to warm things up for the conclusion to a grueling campaign season. Some guys stopped by last weekend's Comedy Central shindig with a video camera and a sign. Asking the important questions... and getting the important answers.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
10/31/10
I'll toss this in quickly, just because I said that I would mention any changes to the status quo. Now my left ass cheek hurts. Not sure whether or not it's related to the issue on my right side. Nothing further on that topic.
Probably not a whole lot on any topic, come to think of it. Just another day of delivering milk and lifting weights. Oh, the excitement of being home every night! I finished up my workout a little earlier than normal and kinda sorta thought I might get to bed at a decent hour, but that appears not to have happened. You start reading the news of the day, then one headline links to another headline... Now I'll probably end up sleeping away the entire morning of my day off. Such a dumb pattern.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
10/30/10
That was fun to watch... or something. At least there's one upside to this Saturday work arrangement of mine. Instead of sitting around and stewing about this shit, I tend to be pretty busy driving and delivering milk. You know, glass half full and whatnot.
I wound up being a little busier than anticipated today. If you pay close attention, then you've probably noticed that the milk business is picking up a bit of steam. This means that we, the drivers, are making more money. In what I'm sure is a coincidence, the sick calls on weekends seem to be popping up again. So my scheduled one-stop second run was replaced by a three-stopper. Another fifty bucks on my paycheck is fine and all, but I had been planning to hang out with my niece and nephew tonight. My new schedule carried me through almost to midnight, so we had to scrap those plans. Work is work though. A fella's gotta earn a living one way or another.
The driving and delivering, in and of themselves, didn't go too badly. My first trip involved a stop in Howell and another in Swartz Creek. I knew that there was something amiss when I left the dairy, so I made sure to tell the guys in Howell to wait before they pulled their milk into the cooler. According to the bills, they were to get 192 cases from me. That's around three and a half pallets. There were five and a half pallets on the tail of the trailer, each with white tags indicating that they were going to the Howell store. When I pulled the pallets out of the trailer and counted the cases, I found that there were 282 instead of the 192 on the order. It only took a second to spot the fact that 90 cases of 1/2% milk were on the first two pallets that I had unloaded (54 & 36, respectively). What are the odds that a store getting a total of 192 cases would be getting 90 cases of 1/2%? Pretty small odds, obviously.
Subtracting those 90 cases left us with the appropriate 192, so I was pretty sure that we were on the right track. A look at the order for my second stop showed that the Swartz Creek store did in fact have 90 cases of 1/2% coming. Okay then. So the dairy had been running behind on 1/2% milk production and had put those two pallets on after the rest of the trailer was already loaded. This happens sometimes, usually with chocolate milk and almost always on Saturday, but it's no big deal. It's my job to pay attention for odds and ends thrown on the back of the trailer. It's their job, however, to put the right tags on each pallet. The Swartz Creek load had black tags, not white. Someone wasn't paying attention. Fortunately, that someone wasn't I.
Speaking of the Swartz Creek load... oy! 17 pallets and 35,000 pounds. That's a lot of freaking milk. I think I've seen one or two loads that had 14 pallets. 12 or 13 pallets are common at a few of the busier stores. 17 though? That was something new. It probably goes without saying that I was in Swartz Creek for a while this afternoon. That store has a narrow corridor through which the milk has to go in order to get to the dairy cooler. Then the empty cases (13 pallets, in this case) have to come through the same corridor to get to my trailer. This means that it's a one-at-a-time affair. We got 'er done though.
My three evening stops were in the Toledo area. The first involved waiting for a bread truck to leave before I could get into the loading dock. The second involved nobody answering the door, then nobody being in the receiving area after I had walked around and into the front entrance. (Turns out the only guy working in the back tonight was on his break at the time. Go figure.) The third stop involved a grocery truck pulling out of the dock just as I arrived, leaving pallets of shit piled from wall to wall in the stock room. Each of these delays added a bit of time to my shift, but what are you gonna do? Just part of the job, I suppose. All in all, my shift took less than twelve hours from pre-trip inspection to post-trip inspection, so good enough.
Tomorrow brings another decent day of earnings, at least as things stand now. I have the long Midland and Mount Pleasant run, then a two-stopper to Toledo. I'm familiar with all of the stores involved and things should be pretty smooth, so this is probably the right time to prepare for some unfortunate event. We'll see.
Friday, October 29, 2010
10/29/10
If I were to reflect on the last several years' experiences in my life, I think I would honestly conclude that I've become more patient with people than I once was. Perhaps this is a natural consequence of growing older or perhaps it's a side benefit of having spent a few years more or less isolated from society. Whatever the explanation behind this evolution may be though, I still have my limits. When one of these limits is reached, I can sometimes be a little hasty in declaring that enough is enough. Today... enough was enough.
I basically instituted a unilateral policy declaring that I will no longer answer questions about how my back is feeling or how my leg is feeling or any of that. It's the same damned answer every day - I have no idea. So, to the dispatcher at work, the security guard at the dairy, the receiving guy at my first stop, and anyone else who bothered to ask, I simply said that I don't want to talk about it anymore. End of discussion. Enough is enough. In the unlikely event that there is some material change to the status quo, I'll be more than willing to tell people. Otherwise, screw it. Life with numb toes and random leg symptoms isn't the worst thing in the world. You get used to it after a while.
Today's work schedule had the potential to be a challenge, but it turned out to be pretty easy in the end. My load had four stops, with the third stop coming at a location with no loading dock. The only way to make this kind of run work would be to leave the empties behind at my first two stops. Then I could deal with the no-dock third delivery and the regular fourth delivery before circling back to the first two stores and picking up their empties. It turned out that the second store only had two pallets of empties though, so I just took them with me and worked around them to deliver the milk at my third store. And I still had plenty of room in my trailer for an easy delivery/pickup at the last stop. This meant that, after completing my four stops, I only had to return to the first store to pick up empties. That particular store is right on US-23 on the way back to the dairy anyway, meaning that stopping there at the end of my shift was no great inconvenience. Good deal.
I've been pretty worn out lately and last night's sleep schedule wasn't helpful to the cause. I may or may not have some sort of family gathering to attend tomorrow night though, so I had to man up and get to the gym after work tonight. Not my most impressive workout by any stretch of the imagination, given the fatigue and general malaise that I was fighting. I did manage to sling around enough weight to make it worth my while though.
Two loads tomorrow - a two-stopper and a one-stopper. Assuming that I actually manage to sleep for a few solid hours tonight, this could be setting up to be the easiest $230 shift that I've had thus far. I'll have to sneak a peek at my FloTV here and there to see how pathetic my Irish are, but I've concluded that they're hardly worth watching anyway. Might as well make a few bucks.
I basically instituted a unilateral policy declaring that I will no longer answer questions about how my back is feeling or how my leg is feeling or any of that. It's the same damned answer every day - I have no idea. So, to the dispatcher at work, the security guard at the dairy, the receiving guy at my first stop, and anyone else who bothered to ask, I simply said that I don't want to talk about it anymore. End of discussion. Enough is enough. In the unlikely event that there is some material change to the status quo, I'll be more than willing to tell people. Otherwise, screw it. Life with numb toes and random leg symptoms isn't the worst thing in the world. You get used to it after a while.
Today's work schedule had the potential to be a challenge, but it turned out to be pretty easy in the end. My load had four stops, with the third stop coming at a location with no loading dock. The only way to make this kind of run work would be to leave the empties behind at my first two stops. Then I could deal with the no-dock third delivery and the regular fourth delivery before circling back to the first two stores and picking up their empties. It turned out that the second store only had two pallets of empties though, so I just took them with me and worked around them to deliver the milk at my third store. And I still had plenty of room in my trailer for an easy delivery/pickup at the last stop. This meant that, after completing my four stops, I only had to return to the first store to pick up empties. That particular store is right on US-23 on the way back to the dairy anyway, meaning that stopping there at the end of my shift was no great inconvenience. Good deal.
I've been pretty worn out lately and last night's sleep schedule wasn't helpful to the cause. I may or may not have some sort of family gathering to attend tomorrow night though, so I had to man up and get to the gym after work tonight. Not my most impressive workout by any stretch of the imagination, given the fatigue and general malaise that I was fighting. I did manage to sling around enough weight to make it worth my while though.
Two loads tomorrow - a two-stopper and a one-stopper. Assuming that I actually manage to sleep for a few solid hours tonight, this could be setting up to be the easiest $230 shift that I've had thus far. I'll have to sneak a peek at my FloTV here and there to see how pathetic my Irish are, but I've concluded that they're hardly worth watching anyway. Might as well make a few bucks.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
10/28/10
You know what we don't do here at Tales from the Road? We don't blow off the readers. This blogging thing may require a little more work than people realize, but screw it. Day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year, a handful of you degenerates have had something to say. Your feedback is what makes it all worthwhile.
So in your honor, I say the following: I'm fucking tired, man. My ass hurts. I haven't slept worth a damn in three days. I just drove 500 miles on my day off, had a steak dinner with an old friend, and drank a few weird drinks that claimed (accurately, as nearly as I can tell) to contain 8% alcohol. I'm fucking tired.
We'll resume this chat tomorrow.
So in your honor, I say the following: I'm fucking tired, man. My ass hurts. I haven't slept worth a damn in three days. I just drove 500 miles on my day off, had a steak dinner with an old friend, and drank a few weird drinks that claimed (accurately, as nearly as I can tell) to contain 8% alcohol. I'm fucking tired.
We'll resume this chat tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
10/27/10
Imagine my surprise this morning when I became aware that my log book still has a Line 2. I've been sent to Tennessee with this sleeper cab before and still got my hotel money. Apparently now we're sleeping in the truck whenever a sleeper cab is available.
In a certain sense, it's just as well to hop in the bunk and go to bed for the night. It's a bit of a hassle to get a motel room for a quick 10 hour break anyway.
In another sense, it sucks balls. Since I'm not staying at a motel, I can't park at a motel. I had forgotten just how much I love looking for a parking space at a truck stop late at night.
Luckily for me, at the very least, I keep a pillow in my car for my pre-workout naps. Otherwise I may have been really annoyed.
The drive down was a pain in the ass, as could be expected with a 10am departure. Early rush hour in Cincinnati, late rush hour in Louisville, and the daily accidents were still being cleaned up in Nashville. (Those people really should take driving classes or something.)
After my drop/hook in Murfreesboro, the rest of the drive... was a pain in the ass. Go figure. There was construction on I-24 and those same awesome Nashville drivers haven't caught on to the whole 'merging' phenomenon. Good times. Good times.
Of course, by the time I got into Kentucky, the truck stops were full. After making passes through the Flying J, Petro, and Pilot, I hadn't found a spot. Since I do still get my meals reimbursed, I parked in the fuel island and headed in to get some dinner at Wendy's before trying the Shell station on the other side of the freeway. When I came back out to my truck, I spotted a parking space. How 'bout that.
Now we get to see if I can get some sleep amidst the idling trucks. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in...
In a certain sense, it's just as well to hop in the bunk and go to bed for the night. It's a bit of a hassle to get a motel room for a quick 10 hour break anyway.
In another sense, it sucks balls. Since I'm not staying at a motel, I can't park at a motel. I had forgotten just how much I love looking for a parking space at a truck stop late at night.
Luckily for me, at the very least, I keep a pillow in my car for my pre-workout naps. Otherwise I may have been really annoyed.
The drive down was a pain in the ass, as could be expected with a 10am departure. Early rush hour in Cincinnati, late rush hour in Louisville, and the daily accidents were still being cleaned up in Nashville. (Those people really should take driving classes or something.)
After my drop/hook in Murfreesboro, the rest of the drive... was a pain in the ass. Go figure. There was construction on I-24 and those same awesome Nashville drivers haven't caught on to the whole 'merging' phenomenon. Good times. Good times.
Of course, by the time I got into Kentucky, the truck stops were full. After making passes through the Flying J, Petro, and Pilot, I hadn't found a spot. Since I do still get my meals reimbursed, I parked in the fuel island and headed in to get some dinner at Wendy's before trying the Shell station on the other side of the freeway. When I came back out to my truck, I spotted a parking space. How 'bout that.
Now we get to see if I can get some sleep amidst the idling trucks. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in...
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
10/26/10
Technically speaking, I guess this blog is still occasionally centered around the experiences that I have as a truck driver. This may lead some people to believe that I'm at least a little bit knowledgeable about the topic. I'm really not though. I probably know less about trucks and truck driving than half the people who have never set foot in a big rig. For instance: Are you supposed to back into a loading dock when it looks like this? I have no idea.
That back wheel was submerged past the axle, which leads me to believe that it probably didn't belong there. You can see where the black matting around the edge of the dock door ends. The dock itself sits a few inches above that level. All I knew was that Mount Pleasant is two and a half hours from home and I had nine pallets of milk for those chuckleheads, so they were getting their damned delivery.
I heard from a few people today asking how bad the storms were. To tell you the truth, I didn't notice much of anything. It was pretty windy and there was some steady rain, but it was nothing like what I was hearing on the radio. Guess I caught a lucky route.
I was a little bit up in the air about whether or not I should work out my arms after work tonight. Since I incurred this back injury, I've stayed away from leg workouts and lengthy cardio sessions. They just hurt too much. So, with all of the workouts involving my upper body, the scheduling gets to be a pain in the ass (no pun intended). I went at it pretty hard with my back workout last night, meaning that my biceps were fairly taxed by the end, so it would be preferable to leave a day of rest in-between before I come back and hit my arms. Skipping tonight would throw the rest of the week off though. I still hadn't decided how to proceed as I was driving back toward Livonia to drop off my trailer full of empty cases. Then my dispatcher called with tomorrow's assignment and made the decision an easy one. I worked out my arms tonight because there won't be any weight lifting tomorrow.
That assignment, you ask?
I heard from a few people today asking how bad the storms were. To tell you the truth, I didn't notice much of anything. It was pretty windy and there was some steady rain, but it was nothing like what I was hearing on the radio. Guess I caught a lucky route.
I was a little bit up in the air about whether or not I should work out my arms after work tonight. Since I incurred this back injury, I've stayed away from leg workouts and lengthy cardio sessions. They just hurt too much. So, with all of the workouts involving my upper body, the scheduling gets to be a pain in the ass (no pun intended). I went at it pretty hard with my back workout last night, meaning that my biceps were fairly taxed by the end, so it would be preferable to leave a day of rest in-between before I come back and hit my arms. Skipping tonight would throw the rest of the week off though. I still hadn't decided how to proceed as I was driving back toward Livonia to drop off my trailer full of empty cases. Then my dispatcher called with tomorrow's assignment and made the decision an easy one. I worked out my arms tonight because there won't be any weight lifting tomorrow.
That assignment, you ask?
Monday, October 25, 2010
10/25/10
I find that I like my spot on the seniority list at work. I'm near the bottom, meaning that I'm less likely to get two loads on the days when a lot of drivers are working. I'm not all the way at the bottom though. Three or four guys were hired after me, meaning that I do catch a second load quite a bit of the time when those lower-ranked guys only get one. This seems to be a pretty good balance for me. Higher on the list, I would get two loads almost every day and work a lot more than I do now. Lower on the list, I would almost never get two loads and would make a lot less money than I do now. In addition, whenever I am among the low-ranking guys who only get one load on slow days, I always get the highest paying single load on my shift. Sometimes it becomes a matter of making thirty or forty dollars over the minimum while other guys have to settle for the $140.
In related news, I'm going to Midland and Mount Pleasant tomorrow. That's a nice and easy two-stop run, but the 301 miles are enough to bump the pay up to $164. Not early retirement kinda money or anything, but I really do like my easy shifts when I can get them. There's always gonna be a two-load day just around the corner, given the way my colleagues like to call in sick and whatnot, so I have no complaints on the light days.
As for today, blah. I slept until noon, got out of bed, felt sore, and got back into bed. That covered the first part of the day, but eventually I got hungry. And I needed some quarters in order to do my laundry. That routine is a little tedious, but it has to be done sometimes. Drive out by the airport, hit the ATM, drive over to the truck stop on Inkster, buy a fantastic Italian BMT with double meat (breaking a $20 bill in the process), drive back toward home, use the change machine at the car wash to get some quarters, then go home and wash my clothes. This is the height of fun and excitement, I can assure you.
It's really hard to top the thrill of such an entertaining evening, but I found a way to do it by golly. A nap and a workout. Woohoo! Seriously man, what a waste of a day. There's always tomorrow...
In related news, I'm going to Midland and Mount Pleasant tomorrow. That's a nice and easy two-stop run, but the 301 miles are enough to bump the pay up to $164. Not early retirement kinda money or anything, but I really do like my easy shifts when I can get them. There's always gonna be a two-load day just around the corner, given the way my colleagues like to call in sick and whatnot, so I have no complaints on the light days.
As for today, blah. I slept until noon, got out of bed, felt sore, and got back into bed. That covered the first part of the day, but eventually I got hungry. And I needed some quarters in order to do my laundry. That routine is a little tedious, but it has to be done sometimes. Drive out by the airport, hit the ATM, drive over to the truck stop on Inkster, buy a fantastic Italian BMT with double meat (breaking a $20 bill in the process), drive back toward home, use the change machine at the car wash to get some quarters, then go home and wash my clothes. This is the height of fun and excitement, I can assure you.
It's really hard to top the thrill of such an entertaining evening, but I found a way to do it by golly. A nap and a workout. Woohoo! Seriously man, what a waste of a day. There's always tomorrow...
Sunday, October 24, 2010
10/24/10
I listen to NPR a lot. In terms of political content the folks on those stations tend to be opposed to my views for the most part, but that doesn't bother me. I know who I am and I know what I believe. Hearing some self-described genius call me an idiot isn't going to change anything. When they get outside the political arena though, the NPR shows cover a breadth of topics that no other local radio channels seem to touch. I enjoy the variety.
One of tonight's NPR segments involved an author whose main point was that scientists need to learn how to speak to "regular folks" more effectively. The host of the show, in true NPR fashion, had a hang-up about climate change. In his view this is an area where the rubes among the general population simply haven't been made to understand. Obviously, as a right-wing reactionary hatemonger, I'm one of those rubes. I'm a Democrat now but, you know, I'm an idiot nonetheless.
The author guy, scientific expert that he is, said a few generic words about messaging. Then the host pressed him for an answer concerning how to make the unwashed masses fear climate change. The 'Climategate' situation was brought up as an example. Apparently, as nearly as I can tell from the ensuing conversation, it wasn't a problem that the self-described scientists were lying about their data. That was a non-issue. The problem was that they didn't react to the breaking news by taking control of the message. Instead of being a story about scientific fraud with global economic consequences, the story should have been about ILLEGAL e-mail hacking. That was the real scandal, according to the expert. I'm not an advocate for breaking into e-mail accounts or anything, but really?
This discussion, interesting as it was, didn't make me want to buy the scientist guy's book. He just sounded like a left-wing hack to me, which comes as no surprise given my status as a right-wing hatemonger. The discussion did, however, get me thinking about the scientific method.
You all know by now that my ass hurts quite a bit of the time. You also know that this seems to be the result of some kind of spine/nerve issue relating to my lower back. I've tried pain killers. I've tried anti-inflammatories. I've tried exercise. I've tried rest. The damned injury just seems to persist. (Obviously I haven't tried medical treatment just yet, but you would just have to understand my makeup...) Today's version of the experiment brought heat treatment into the equation.
I put one of those warming wraps on my back before I started work this afternoon. I was hoping to work a shift without pain, obviously, but the definition of success was hard to define. In terms of the scientific method that I'm trying to discuss here, the problem was that there's no control group. My symptoms are so random that I never know what to expect from one day to the next. One day I can walk without pain but can't sit. The next day I can sit without pain but can't walk. How would I know whether or not the heat wrap was working?
In the absence of any reliable measure of success, I decided to reduce the question to one of whether or not I would buy more heat wraps in the future. If my pain-free (or anything remotely close) shift were to occur, I decided, I would buy more of the wraps, even if they had nothing more than a placebo effect. Science can go only so far when a man has a painful ass, after all.
I made my drops in Lapeer and Imlay City without incident. I wasn't feeling like a million bucks afterward, but I was holding my own. I drove back down to Livonia and grabbed my second load. As I drove toward Toledo, I realized that I might be heading for another showdown with the supreme asshole of the dairy business. He wasn't there though, so I got to deal with the friendly old guy who has been there most of the times that I've gone to that store. That was nice.
There's a bunch of highway construction around Monroe, where my last stop was to take place, so I'm never quite sure which exits I can use and which ones are closed. I chose to drive into Michigan on Telegraph Road and then hop over to Dixie Highway, running the latter all the way into town. This worked pretty well in terms of routing. I'm not even sure that it would have been any quicker to take I-75. As I rolled toward town, my dispatcher called to ask if I had pulled my second load yet. Sure thing, sister, I'm headed to the last stop right now. Apparently the folks at the Monroe store were running out of milk and wanted to know how soon I would be there. I arrived about fifteen minutes later.
As I started to get everything situated for my fairly huge milk delivery (13 pallets and ~27,000 pounds), I noticed that something was missing. Umm, where's the power jack? Broken, as it turns out. Fuck, that's a lot of milk. I'm not a total weakling or anything, so I have the ability to pull milk from a trailer with a manual pallet jack. Throwing one more wrench into our attempts at scientific observation, however, is the fact that this particular activity doesn't seem to be good for my spine. By the time I got all 13 pallets out of the trailer I was feeling awful. Today's experiment in pain-free work had gone terribly awry.
Since I was set to do a back workout tonight and it was painful for me even to move, I chose to skip the gym and head home. We'll try getting back at it after some rest tomorrow. Seems to be the pattern, eh? Hurt - rest - work - hurt - rest - repeat. This doesn't lend itself to very effective science, but we're gonna figure out something that works, sooner or later.
One of tonight's NPR segments involved an author whose main point was that scientists need to learn how to speak to "regular folks" more effectively. The host of the show, in true NPR fashion, had a hang-up about climate change. In his view this is an area where the rubes among the general population simply haven't been made to understand. Obviously, as a right-wing reactionary hatemonger, I'm one of those rubes. I'm a Democrat now but, you know, I'm an idiot nonetheless.
The author guy, scientific expert that he is, said a few generic words about messaging. Then the host pressed him for an answer concerning how to make the unwashed masses fear climate change. The 'Climategate' situation was brought up as an example. Apparently, as nearly as I can tell from the ensuing conversation, it wasn't a problem that the self-described scientists were lying about their data. That was a non-issue. The problem was that they didn't react to the breaking news by taking control of the message. Instead of being a story about scientific fraud with global economic consequences, the story should have been about ILLEGAL e-mail hacking. That was the real scandal, according to the expert. I'm not an advocate for breaking into e-mail accounts or anything, but really?
This discussion, interesting as it was, didn't make me want to buy the scientist guy's book. He just sounded like a left-wing hack to me, which comes as no surprise given my status as a right-wing hatemonger. The discussion did, however, get me thinking about the scientific method.
You all know by now that my ass hurts quite a bit of the time. You also know that this seems to be the result of some kind of spine/nerve issue relating to my lower back. I've tried pain killers. I've tried anti-inflammatories. I've tried exercise. I've tried rest. The damned injury just seems to persist. (Obviously I haven't tried medical treatment just yet, but you would just have to understand my makeup...) Today's version of the experiment brought heat treatment into the equation.
I put one of those warming wraps on my back before I started work this afternoon. I was hoping to work a shift without pain, obviously, but the definition of success was hard to define. In terms of the scientific method that I'm trying to discuss here, the problem was that there's no control group. My symptoms are so random that I never know what to expect from one day to the next. One day I can walk without pain but can't sit. The next day I can sit without pain but can't walk. How would I know whether or not the heat wrap was working?
In the absence of any reliable measure of success, I decided to reduce the question to one of whether or not I would buy more heat wraps in the future. If my pain-free (or anything remotely close) shift were to occur, I decided, I would buy more of the wraps, even if they had nothing more than a placebo effect. Science can go only so far when a man has a painful ass, after all.
I made my drops in Lapeer and Imlay City without incident. I wasn't feeling like a million bucks afterward, but I was holding my own. I drove back down to Livonia and grabbed my second load. As I drove toward Toledo, I realized that I might be heading for another showdown with the supreme asshole of the dairy business. He wasn't there though, so I got to deal with the friendly old guy who has been there most of the times that I've gone to that store. That was nice.
There's a bunch of highway construction around Monroe, where my last stop was to take place, so I'm never quite sure which exits I can use and which ones are closed. I chose to drive into Michigan on Telegraph Road and then hop over to Dixie Highway, running the latter all the way into town. This worked pretty well in terms of routing. I'm not even sure that it would have been any quicker to take I-75. As I rolled toward town, my dispatcher called to ask if I had pulled my second load yet. Sure thing, sister, I'm headed to the last stop right now. Apparently the folks at the Monroe store were running out of milk and wanted to know how soon I would be there. I arrived about fifteen minutes later.
As I started to get everything situated for my fairly huge milk delivery (13 pallets and ~27,000 pounds), I noticed that something was missing. Umm, where's the power jack? Broken, as it turns out. Fuck, that's a lot of milk. I'm not a total weakling or anything, so I have the ability to pull milk from a trailer with a manual pallet jack. Throwing one more wrench into our attempts at scientific observation, however, is the fact that this particular activity doesn't seem to be good for my spine. By the time I got all 13 pallets out of the trailer I was feeling awful. Today's experiment in pain-free work had gone terribly awry.
Since I was set to do a back workout tonight and it was painful for me even to move, I chose to skip the gym and head home. We'll try getting back at it after some rest tomorrow. Seems to be the pattern, eh? Hurt - rest - work - hurt - rest - repeat. This doesn't lend itself to very effective science, but we're gonna figure out something that works, sooner or later.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
10/23/10
I sure hope there's something in those Wikileak documents about our navy secretly using NFL players on its football team. Otherwise I'm pretty sure we've reached a new low in Fighting Irish history. It was bad enough to see the 43 game streak end a few years back, but Notre Dame was playing a bunch of freshmen at the time and the game was close. Then last year was frustrating, but again at least it was a decent game. Today a bunch of 300+ pound men got pushed around by a bunch of 240 pound men. A bunch of guys who run the 40 yard dash in 5.2 seconds ran circles around a bunch of guys who do it in 4.4. Absolutely humiliating.
Adding insult to injury, today was the first time all season that my schedule allowed me to see a whole game. My youngest brother had given me a gift card to Hooters for my birthday, so a buddy and I went there for lunch today. Believe it or not, I've never been all that impressed with Hooters (at least not with the capital 'H,' if you catch my drift, and I think you do). I went there several years ago with a friend and found that the food sucked, the prices were high, and the women weren't any better than those at many of the local dive bars around here. Today I found that not much has changed over the years. A gift card is a gift card though, so there we were. Getting back to the 'insult to injury' part... I had to work tonight so I didn't even get to knock back any beers to dull the pain. Woe is me.
Adding injury to insult... or something... my ass hurts again. I got a lot of bed rest on Thursday and then didn't have to do much walking at work yesterday. So by the time I skipped last night's workout, my back had been rested better than at any point since it was injured. Whenever I went to bed last night I had almost started to forget about the pain and such. Almost. Then I got out of bed this morning feeling pretty stiff. Not too bad though... yet. The pain started to kick in between my first and second stops tonight and kept building as time went along. By the time I left the gym after my workout, it was hard to get into my car. Shit.
I stopped at Meijer on the way home and grabbed a heating pad and a couple of boxes of those ThermaCare heat wrap things. I'm grasping at straws here, but I ain't ready to quit the fight just yet. I'm sitting on the heating pad as I type this and the pain seems to be easing a little bit. Maybe there's hope for tomorrow then. I'll have two loads, each with two stops, so I should be at work for around eleven hours or so. If today's pattern gets repeated, only with double the working hours, it's gonna be ugly. My hope is that those heat wraps, combined with some Aleve, can get me through to my day off on Monday. That's my hope.
Adding insult to injury, today was the first time all season that my schedule allowed me to see a whole game. My youngest brother had given me a gift card to Hooters for my birthday, so a buddy and I went there for lunch today. Believe it or not, I've never been all that impressed with Hooters (at least not with the capital 'H,' if you catch my drift, and I think you do). I went there several years ago with a friend and found that the food sucked, the prices were high, and the women weren't any better than those at many of the local dive bars around here. Today I found that not much has changed over the years. A gift card is a gift card though, so there we were. Getting back to the 'insult to injury' part... I had to work tonight so I didn't even get to knock back any beers to dull the pain. Woe is me.
Adding injury to insult... or something... my ass hurts again. I got a lot of bed rest on Thursday and then didn't have to do much walking at work yesterday. So by the time I skipped last night's workout, my back had been rested better than at any point since it was injured. Whenever I went to bed last night I had almost started to forget about the pain and such. Almost. Then I got out of bed this morning feeling pretty stiff. Not too bad though... yet. The pain started to kick in between my first and second stops tonight and kept building as time went along. By the time I left the gym after my workout, it was hard to get into my car. Shit.
I stopped at Meijer on the way home and grabbed a heating pad and a couple of boxes of those ThermaCare heat wrap things. I'm grasping at straws here, but I ain't ready to quit the fight just yet. I'm sitting on the heating pad as I type this and the pain seems to be easing a little bit. Maybe there's hope for tomorrow then. I'll have two loads, each with two stops, so I should be at work for around eleven hours or so. If today's pattern gets repeated, only with double the working hours, it's gonna be ugly. My hope is that those heat wraps, combined with some Aleve, can get me through to my day off on Monday. That's my hope.
Friday, October 22, 2010
10/22/10
My car is fixed. That's pretty good, I suppose. You know what's funny though? The Mazda dealership put in a new thermostat and housing. The cost for the parts - $62.75. The friend of a friend of the family who replaced my engine also put in a new thermostat and housing. The cost of the parts when he did it - $120.00. And he did it wrong. That's pretty funny. I always thought that the dealerships were the most expensive place to have repairs done. You live and learn, I suppose. I never have trusted mechanics, so this just confirms that I've been prescient... or whatever.
Work was work. I had to wait a little while on the Grand Rapids end of my first trip as they were loading a trailer with cheese for me to bring back to Livonia. Then, between the first and second trips, I wound up shuttling a few of our recently repaired trailers over to the dairy.
Once I finally made my way down to Monroe for the one milk delivery of the day, things went relatively quickly, if not simply. That loading dock is one of the tougher ones that we have to use. The building originally had no loading dock, then this one was added as an afterthought. To back in, you have to come around the back of the building, then back to the blindside from a skinny alley with a guardrail on the left, down into a pit, with a storage trailer on one side and a concrete wall on the other. It's pretty difficult. I got in there without too much trouble, then found that nobody had come to the back door yet to let me in.
I tried opening the door, as sometimes the Kroger people will unhook the latch but leave the door itself shut until I get to it. The door started to open. Beauty. Then it stopped opening. Huh? Must be stuck on something, I thought. So I lowered it down and tried again. Same thing. Huh? Finding that there still was nobody to let me in, and wanting to get my milk delivered so that I could finish my shift, I took an unconventional approach to the matter. I lifted the door as far as I could, then held it up with one arm as I slid my ass underneath and into the building. That worked. It turned out that there was a bungee cord holding the door shut. Not exactly the most effective security approach if a fat dude like me can shimmy inside, but whatever. Not my problem.
The stock room at that store is quite tiny, so I started looking for a way to move enough shit out of the way so that I could get to my trailer. At this point a young guy came into the room and explained that nobody could find a key to the bay door for the loading dock. If they weren't able to track down someone with a key, he continued, I would have to come back some other time. I'm not sure if the youngster is aware of how this little arrangement works, but I most certainly was not going to come back another time. As I hung out in the back room awaiting word about the key situation, I decided to do something else unconventional. I checked to see if the bay door was even locked. It wasn't. Derp.
I got my eight pallets of milk unloaded and grabbed their three pallets of empties, then headed back to Livonia. My unfortunate lodger had retrieved my car for me this afternoon, so he got the additional pleasure of driving out to Livonia and picking me up from work. After I drove home and dropped him off, I found myself unable to summon to motivation to turn back around and go all the way out to Novi for a workout. So I just stayed home. Screw it. I'll get back at it tomorrow. I have a 5:30pm pull time and a few stops out along I-96, so I should be done somewhere around midnight. That should work pretty well.
Work was work. I had to wait a little while on the Grand Rapids end of my first trip as they were loading a trailer with cheese for me to bring back to Livonia. Then, between the first and second trips, I wound up shuttling a few of our recently repaired trailers over to the dairy.
Once I finally made my way down to Monroe for the one milk delivery of the day, things went relatively quickly, if not simply. That loading dock is one of the tougher ones that we have to use. The building originally had no loading dock, then this one was added as an afterthought. To back in, you have to come around the back of the building, then back to the blindside from a skinny alley with a guardrail on the left, down into a pit, with a storage trailer on one side and a concrete wall on the other. It's pretty difficult. I got in there without too much trouble, then found that nobody had come to the back door yet to let me in.
I tried opening the door, as sometimes the Kroger people will unhook the latch but leave the door itself shut until I get to it. The door started to open. Beauty. Then it stopped opening. Huh? Must be stuck on something, I thought. So I lowered it down and tried again. Same thing. Huh? Finding that there still was nobody to let me in, and wanting to get my milk delivered so that I could finish my shift, I took an unconventional approach to the matter. I lifted the door as far as I could, then held it up with one arm as I slid my ass underneath and into the building. That worked. It turned out that there was a bungee cord holding the door shut. Not exactly the most effective security approach if a fat dude like me can shimmy inside, but whatever. Not my problem.
The stock room at that store is quite tiny, so I started looking for a way to move enough shit out of the way so that I could get to my trailer. At this point a young guy came into the room and explained that nobody could find a key to the bay door for the loading dock. If they weren't able to track down someone with a key, he continued, I would have to come back some other time. I'm not sure if the youngster is aware of how this little arrangement works, but I most certainly was not going to come back another time. As I hung out in the back room awaiting word about the key situation, I decided to do something else unconventional. I checked to see if the bay door was even locked. It wasn't. Derp.
I got my eight pallets of milk unloaded and grabbed their three pallets of empties, then headed back to Livonia. My unfortunate lodger had retrieved my car for me this afternoon, so he got the additional pleasure of driving out to Livonia and picking me up from work. After I drove home and dropped him off, I found myself unable to summon to motivation to turn back around and go all the way out to Novi for a workout. So I just stayed home. Screw it. I'll get back at it tomorrow. I have a 5:30pm pull time and a few stops out along I-96, so I should be done somewhere around midnight. That should work pretty well.
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