9/5/10

I'm sure a lot of people have thought about moving to another country for one reason or another. (Picture related. I'm tempted.) And plenty of people do in fact move to plenty of countries for plenty of reasons, of course. Yet, in my egocentric view of the world, I've always pictured the United States as a destination and not a departure point. You know, yankee arrogance and so forth.

There has been a new dispatcher around the office for the past week or so. Since I work at a place with around forty drivers and only five operations people, I assumed that someone must have quit or gone on leave or something. It's not the kind of place that would just add an extra dispatcher for the hell of it. I hadn't seen one particular guy all week, so my guess was that he was gone.

After working my twelve hours today without any major issues or delays, I rolled back into the terminal and dropped off my truck. I headed inside to drop off my paperwork and saw the dispatcher dude that had been gone all week. As I was wrapping up and getting ready to leave, the guy who was on yard dog duty came in and sat down to take a quick break. He asked the dispatcher - "Hey man, when's your last day?" So someone was indeed quitting, it turns out.

The dispatcher replied that his last day is tomorrow. I headed over and shook his hand to wish him the best of luck with things, since tomorrow is my day off and I won't be around. In passing, I asked where he was headed from here. "UK," he replied, in his usual terse fashion. The U.K., as in Great Britain? "Yep. My wife and I are moving over there." I'll be damned. It's like 1620 in reverse or something.  At least he should be really safe over there... you know, from silverware... or whatever.

As tends to be the case by the time Sunday rolls around, I'm sure as hell looking forward to a day off.  Fridays and Saturdays had been on the lighter side for me in recent weeks, but not this time.  Between catching that second run on Friday and pulling two loads each on Saturday and Sunday, not to mention this gym nonsense afterward, I'm a bit tired.

Whenever I manage to drag my ass out of bed tomorrow, I think that something involving charcoal and meat will be in the cards.  Gas grills (aka outdoor stoves) should be reserved strictly for women.  And this, of course, is only if we're willing to consider the patio as part of the kitchen.  I don't make the rules.  I'm just the communicator.