3/12/10

Every winter, like clockwork, a bunch of our trucks slide off the road and we're treated to a barrage of satellite messages telling us to park our trucks and call Joplin if the road conditions are unsafe.  Better to arrive late than not at all, and so forth.  I get off the road sometimes if the weather is getting on my nerves, but I don't think I've ever had a pickup or delivery that was impacted.  I've occasionally been curious to know if the operations people and the safety people were of one mind on the subject.  There was recently a message from one of the bigwigs saying that yes, absolutely, the driver is the captain of the ship and there is no problem as long as we communicate properly with the dispatchers.  Still, you have to wonder.

Anyhow, I woke at 5:30am this morning and looked outside.  I couldn't see ten feet in front of me, on account of the thick fog.  Well that sucks.  I called Joplin and asked the dispatcher whether my delivery had an open unloading schedule or it was a firm 8am appointment, letting her know that the fog was wicked bad and I would rather wait for the sun to burn it off a little.  She said that it was a set appointment.  I said, "That sucks."  Then she asked if I was going to be able to roll and make the appointment.  I told her that I had seen a few trucks leave the fuel island and drive away, so maybe the conditions wouldn't be so bad once I got out on the highway.

"Well, if you get out there and you don't feel safe, I don't care what other trucks are doing.  You need to park and let us know," she replied.  I told her that I was thinking along the same lines, but that I would at least head out and see.  If there hadn't been a firm appointment I would have waited for sunrise.  But, since the customer was expecting me at 8am, I might as well at least give it a go.  "Yeah, I'd definitely rather move [the appointment] out for you if I could.  Just let us know if you need to park it."

It turned out that the fog in the area where I had spent the night really was pretty damned bad, but I was able to follow the tail lights ahead of me on the highway.  As long as I stayed in the right lane and took it slow, I didn't feel unsafe.  Then the fog got lighter and lighter as I proceeded northward.  By the time I reached the exit for I-581, visibility wasn't much of an issue at all.  Once I got out past Bedford, the sun was rising and everything was lovely.  I rolled into Lynchburg 45 minutes ahead of schedule. 

Two things are worth noting, I suppose.  First is that, even in conditions that might not be considered terribly dangerous by various people, I was not expected to drive if I was uncomfortable in doing so.  Actually, if any pressure could be inferred from the above conversation, although I inferred none, it would have been pressure not to drive.  That's at least a little encouraging.  I seem to get pretty lucky with the nasty roads for the most part but you never know.  (The cynical hypothesis would be that we probably have a few asshole drivers who try to trap the dispatchers into telling them to run in bad weather, and that this was merely standard CYA rhetoric from the dispatcher.  This wouldn't surprise me, but I'll just stick to the actual conversation and leave the conspiracy theories for someone else.)  Second is that I had been connected to the dispatcher via the night/weekend 'Press 1 if you're a driver' system.  I've certainly had varied experiences with the late shift folks, probably more bad than good if we're being honest here, so it's always nice to have a coherent and productive conversation with one of them.  Good lookin' out, my sister.

As I sat waiting for my turn to get unloaded, I received my next assignment.  That reverse psychology experiment from Wednesday appears to have paid off.  No I-77 involved.  Beauty.  I had to take my empty trailer to the ramen noodle place in Richmond and pick up a load heading to the Miami suburbs.  The noodle place in Richmond?  Hmm, sounds familiar.  On that previous visit, I had been among the horde of trucks that checked in right when the place opened.  Today, the horde had settled in long before I arrived.  The security guard said to me, "Find a place to park if you can.  Then check in."  If I can, indeed.  Holy smokes.  Every trailer spot was full.  Every loading dock was occupied.  There were trucks wedged in at each end of the lot.  I squirreled my way in next to one of my CTL colleagues at the far end of the lot, blocking in a couple of guys who were parked in actual spaces.  What are you gonna do, right?  I would just have to move whenever one of them got a door assignment.

I walked in and gave the shipping lady my pickup number.  While 8-10 trucks, many of them CTL trucks, sat parked all over the place, she told me to back into Door #5.  Then, over the course of the next couple of hours, she called the other trucks on the CB, assigning each to a door whenever one became avilable.  Now, the casual observer might be inclined to think that this was just the result of good timing or a scheduling coincidence.  The folks at Fenian Godfather Research have discovered that there might be a different reason why I was able to gain the (normally cranky) shipping lady's favor.  I haven't shaved in a few days, after all.  I ain't sayin', I'm just sayin'.

My self-delusion notwithstanding, there still were a bunch of trucks already at the dock before me.  They, consequently, got loaded before I did.  I wound up hanging around for four and a half hours before my trailer was loaded, after which the shipping lady... wait for it... apologized for keeping me waiting.  I ain't sayin', I'm just sayin'.

With my nice light 13,000 pound payload all secured, it was time to head south.  My 14 hour clock wasn't going to allow a whole lot of driving this evening, but I got down to Kenly, North Carolina with plenty of time to spare.  Now I should have a nice and easy weekend in store.  My delivery appointment in Hialeah Gardens (where I'm kinda hoping to meet this guy) is set for 1pm on Monday.  I guess it's probably around 800 miles from here to there.  So not only do we get the usual Saturday and Sunday without an alarm clock, but also the coveted sleep-in on Monday.  I dare say this was a pretty sweet assignment.  Plus I'll get a few bucks in detention pay for taking a nap this afternoon, just for good measure.

Role Models... not bad.  Not great, but not bad.  I was pretty encouraged for a little while.  Then it went off the rails during the last half hour or so.  Better than either of those chick flicks, so good enough.

You know, I've gone to a couple of things that could loosely be described as 'tea party' rallies.  The first one just seemed... well... pretty lame.  The second one was generally a collection of friendly folks with catchy phrases on homemade signs, but still a bit on the nerdy side.  (Yeah, I was there.  And I tend to agree with most of the folks who attend the rallies.  I'm not exempt from 'nerd' status here.)  That second one did accomplish the unprecedented  feat of getting my brothers, my aunt Tina, my uncle Norm, and me in the nation's capital at the same time, for whatever that's worth.  As of tonight though, I have to re-calibrate my definition of lame.



Imitating those racist, hatemongering rubes that so trouble you, in your oh-so-above-it-all Starbucks kinda way?  Heh.  Dorks.

My turn maybe?  It's for sale.