Wow. I haven’t written anything here in quite some time. I suppose it’s time to write something, anything, to keep this poor blog alive. I have, however, done some writing on my other blog. I posted a piece there a few weeks ago titled, “Bar Stories: Learning how to write fiction.” If you didn’t read it, and you’re bored out of your mind right now, I urge you to give it a read. It’s a story about people, including a girl named Amanda, who I find to be rather pretty. Many folks that read it told me they liked it, except for two people: My wife and Amanda. For the record, that story was the first one I ran past my wife before publishing it. She wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of me talking up a girl who isn’t her, but after a long discussion, she let me go with it. Apparently, she thought I could use my imagination to make somebody up, but my mind doesn’t work like that. I need people to inspire me, give me ideas from the curiousness that they cause me. As for Miss Amanda, I sent her a link as I promised to do, but as I expected, I never heard back from her. What was I expecting her to say? I don’t know. “Wow, really loved your story, let’s run off and get married” would have been kind of cool. I’m kidding of course. I’m forced to say things like that in an effort to tease my wife. It’s my only purpose in life. (Sorry about that Honey, to me, you are the prettiest of all the girls in the world.) Still, getting serious for a moment, I do have to say that was the most fun thing I have written in a long time. I gather that is because it had absolutely nothing to do with the business of trucking. My day job as a truck driver has been getting to me lately. Please allow me to elaborate on that previous sentence just a wee bit.
I have just endured the darkest stretch of days in my six years working with my present company. Things were so terrible that at one point, I fully expected to quit or be fired. Looking back on those times, I am glad either scenario did not come to fruition. That said, it was a miserable two-plus weeks strung together.
The cause of my angst, I promise you, was not unfounded. I found myself in terrible predicaments with almost every load I pulled. At one point, I was completely convinced it was time for me to give up this multi-stop, less than truckload nonsense. I went so far as to begin investigating other trucking companies that offered point-to-point trips versus doing several stops on one trip. I found one I liked and told my wife about it. She asked how I found the outfit, and I told her I saw one of their trucks at a truck stop, and it was pretty cool looking. She couldn’t believe that’s how I arrived at making a decision with my career, but that’s actually how I arrived at my present company. It’s also a big part of the reason I am still here. I’ve been spoiled by my truck, held hostage by not only how good it looks, but also all the amenities that are inside.
I could go into vivid detail about what I was experiencing and how it made me feel, but what’s the point? I worry my thoughts would be perceived as negative, worse yet, our company would come out looking like a not-so-good place to work. After everything that transpired, I still believe that not to be true. Where I work, in my humble opinion, is one of the best gigs in trucking. What’s most important to me is that for now, I have had most of my issues resolved. Not all of them, but most of them; I can live with that.
Getting back to my “happy place” took more than time. It also took a lot of thinking and a smudge of effort on my part, followed up with some attention from my superiors. It may be unfortunate for them, but here is how I operate when things go off balance for me: I have no oratory skills at all. My thoughts become jumbled when I talk; I miss things on my mind or don’t butt into the conversation and say the things I wished I would have. When my unhappiness level hits a certain point, I write. That was the first step in getting back to my happiness level. On second thought, maybe it is fortunate for my employers because I operate in this fashion. I’ve heard of other drivers who have picked up the phone and did nothing but scream and yell. That’s not my style. I’m the strong and silent type, extremely good-looking and better able to properly explain my feelings using words.
So, I set the process in motion by sending over fifty people in my company a sixty-three page email. Okay, those numbers are exaggerated, there wasn’t that many people involved. After two business days, I got a phone call, which I missed because I was in the trailer gently prodding some furniture to say goodbye and move along to its new home. A game of telephone tag ensued, and continued for a few days. Eventually, I lost the ability to see beauty in the world and could only see red, so I was forced to do something drastic. I finished a load one day and informed a dispatcher that I wouldn’t be taking another load until I got the chance to talk with someone. Drivers can be fired for refusing a load, but technically I wasn’t planned on a load. I was simply refusing all loads, the most dramatic thing I ever have done in my time here though others probably would disagree. Good thing this is my story, don’t you think?
It didn’t take long for my phone to ring after I made my obnoxious demand. To my surprise, the person on the other end of the phone was not only pleasant, but also thought it would be a good idea to sit down and talk. A meeting was scheduled for the next morning, and I went home for the night. I had concerns of what the morning would bring. I’ve known guys that went to meetings such as the one I had scheduled, and came out the other side a civilian. I didn’t think I would be fired, but I told the wife, there was an outside chance it could happen. By the end of the night, she told me to stop talking as she was getting queasy from worry. I tried not to worry too much, figuring if I did lose my job, at least it would make for a good story to write about.
I was back at work bright and early the following morning for our pow-wow. I sat in an office with our Driver Care Manager, and some people in Wisconsin joined us via a speaker phone. We reviewed everything I said in the small book of complaints that I had emailed them prior to our meeting. We talked about other concerns of mine that I hadn’t brought up previously. At one point, someone on the phone actually asked me why I wrote something in the email, as if they didn’t understand the meaning. I answered back that I don’t know why I write half the stuff I write. After almost an hour it was over, and I walked out the door with my job intact. I felt fortunate that they took the time to address my issues. My wife tells me that some companies don’t want to deal with people like me. Apparently, some companies take a “do-your-job-or-don’t” attitude and don’t want to deal with people who raise complaints. For the record, this wasn’t an “about me" type of thing. If I had issues, I figured there was a chance other drivers might be experiencing the same ones. For whatever reason, I happened to be the guy walking around in the black t-shirt with the words “I like to raise red flags,” written in bright-red letters.
In the end, I felt thankful I got to share my concerns. I didn’t feel completely relieved. Some of my concerns were not addressed beyond an explanation I could not understand. That’s okay I guess. My job is to drive a truck, not to understand how a billion-plus dollar company is run.
I ran some errands then drove to the yard, so I could get my truck and head out on another trip. When I arrived at our shop and spotted my rig, I did feel a wave of relief that I could get in my truck and go. That was so much better than cleaning out my truck and going home where I would likely be shot by my wife for getting myself fired. I grabbed my trailer and made trails to wherever I was going that day. Oddly enough, a few miles into my journey, I received a call that cleared up everything that I had been experiencing for the last several weeks.
I was driving down a random stretch of highway, listening to the Leo Sayer channel I created on Pandora Radio. (By the way, it’s a fantastic music station. It does not play strictly Leo, but other great seventies love song artists as well. Check it out.) I thought I heard my cell phone ring, but the ringer sounded abnormally quieter than usual. I reached for my phone, picked it up so I could look at the display and see if it was, in fact, ringing. As soon as I touched it, I took a call not from a person, but from the universe. It went like this:
“Hello Jason, I was once so proud of you, but you’ve thrown me for a loop these last few weeks. You had a plan: Do your job as a truck driver, and do it well, but keep writing so you don’t have to be on the road forever. Getting caught up in things that don’t make sense to you is worthless and only serves as a distraction. Checking out other trucking companies and sending emails filled with nothing but whining adds up to nothing but wasted time. Separate your job and your goals, and don’t let one interfere with the other. Stay focused, stop wasting your resources, and stick with the plan!”
What could I say to that sage advice? I instantly felt better. I can’t argue with what makes sense, but I can disagree with one point: If I’m playing truck driver, and I don’t think something quite jives when out on the road, I’m going to speak up and let someone who is driving a desk at our headquarters know about it. My fellow drivers and I have our boots in the field every day. It is our duty to let our superiors know when we are hitting snags and why. I’ll try to be less dramatic and more to the point. Sixty-three page emails wear me down, no wonder everyone in Wisconsin probably rolls their eyes when they see my name in their email in-box.
I finished the week and went home for the weekend. It may be too soon to tell for sure, but I think my workplace tantrum that I threw helped. Things returned to normal, and I was back in my happy place. The issues that I saw previously had magically disappeared. I can’t tell if the talk I had with the employment Gods changed that, or if I changed because of the advice that I received from the Universe.
As smooth as things were going, it didn’t take long before I opened my mouth and temporarily threw myself into a few moments of chaos during a trip I was blessed with in beautiful upstate New York. I told you I have terrible oratory skills. God help me when I grow up, become famous, and have to give lectures to audiences world-wide.
Actually, what transpired was not entirely my fault. For me to screw up verbally, there is almost always another person involved and in this case, it happened to be a girl who misinterpreted what I said. Allow me to share the horrific tale, a little back story first.
I recently spent a week, a good week at that, working out of our Syracuse, New York drop yard. I was on my way back to Syracuse after a ten-drop delivery day in the Albany region, when my phone rang with instructions for my next mission. My assignment consisted of a handful of stops around the Syracuse metro area. This made me happy because I would be back to Syracuse early in the evening, and the first stop was literally six miles away the next morning. I liked this scenario because I am old and tired. The law says I am required to take ten hours off after each day, that night I would have more like twelve. Plenty of time of time to do my paperwork, have a nice dinner, take a shower, run a half marathon, meditate, and still have enough time to ponder the Universe for hours on end.
Off to bed at an early hour, I planned to sleep in until the last possible moment. Nine hours, I figured would be a wonderful amount of sleep that would never be. For some reason, my mind, like my heart and other vital organs, do not ever sleep. If I have the slightest conscious thought in the early-morning hours, it’s like my mind says, “Oh you’re back!” and one thought turns into ten million. I can’t stand thinking horizontally, so I eventually surrender and get out of bed and in turn, think more clearly. Sometimes, I even throw gas onto the fire via caffeine.
My wife and kids recently gave me a small one-cup coffee maker for my twenty-third birthday. I love that machine, and if my calculations are correct, I’ve already saved over eight thousand dollars in the four weeks I’ve had the thing. Normally, one cup in the morning is plenty. On the fateful morning in question, I was wide awake much earlier than I needed to be, so I accidentally had two cups. I was raring to go by the time it was time to roll, and I set off on the long six mile journey to my first stop.
Ten minutes later, I had arrived on the scene. The warehouse for this joint is behind a shopping center and there are four loading docks. Two of them had box-trucks occupying them, and since I hadn’t been there in ages, I couldn’t remember which door I should back to. I set the brakes and set off on foot to ask someone.
Let me put this story on pause for a paragraph. I need to explain something to you regarding my views, thoughts, and relationship with the fairer sex. Even though I walk around nicely equipped with movie-star good looks, I tend to be a shy boy when talking to girls I do not know well. I was raised to respect women, and never joke around or say risqué things to girls I do not have a close relationship with. I’ve been made to feel uncomfortable when girls get a little forward with me, being asked to autograph inappropriate areas of their bodies sets off full-blown panic attacks. Regardless of what you have read or heard about me, I consider myself a gentleman. Disclaimer finished, back to the story.
Standing at the receiving door, hopped up on too much caffeine, I reached my hand up and pressed the buzzer to announce my arrival. A blonde-haired girl I have met there before comes to the door, opens it, and says hello. With a smile on my face, I say quite jovially, “Good morning! Which hole do you want it in?” Her head tilted slightly to the side and she just kind of looked at me while the uncomfortable silence slowly erased the grin from my face. After what seemed like an hour, she pointed her thumb over her shoulder and said, “The last door at the end.” I acknowledged that I would comply, and set off for my truck.
As I walked, I wondered. “What just happened there? Why did she seem so weird just now?” I could feel the stress dents on the skin between my eyes as I tried to figure things out. Then it hit me. “Did I just ask a girl which…did she think...oh my goodness, no.” I was horrified, so much so that I became completely unglued and had trouble backing my truck up to the dock. By the time I walked inside, I was fully panicking, but not about to acknowledge what I had said, or why I said it. Instead, I walked up to her and made small talk while we waited for the unloading guys to show up. I changed the subject over fifty times in five minutes, the entire time watching her closely to see if she was filling out a sexual harassment form. To my relief, she seemed cool as usual. I was there for about an hour. The entire time, I kept wondering why I would say something like that.
So, why did I use that choice of words? I was using trucker terminology. Truckers often describe a space to back a trailer into as a “hole.” It’s quite common to be passing a truck stop along the interstate and hear someone on the CB ask, “Anyone know if there are any holes left at the so-and-so truck stop?” I’ve been instructed by customers, and even my old driving instructor to, “Back it in that hole.” Up until that day, I’m not sure I’ve used that phrase myself. Why I used it then is beyond me. If a guy had answered the door, or if the girl who did answer it hadn’t interpreted it the way she might have, it would have been a non-event.
After I left, I continued to wonder why I would say such a thing in the manner I did. During a longer stretch of miles between stops, I quietly listened for the answer. It wasn’t long before I took another call from the Universe:
Jason, while it is true that you drive a truck; you've never once described yourself, or thought of yourself, as a truck driver. We both know you are more complex than that. You have aspirations to find your life’s true work outside of trucking, now is not the time to try and fit the mold of a “trucker.” I recommend you refrain from using trucker phrases. Clearly, you’ll just embarrass yourself. What’s next, a big gut and a cowboy hat? Be you, and stick with the plan!
I guess that incident was another lesson in disguise. Who knew the Universe had a sense of humor? I admit, as the day went on, I laughed about how outrageous the thing was, from an immature, locker room comedic standpoint. When I was driving home in my car later that night, I thought about it again from a more serious angle. What if I hadn’t met that girl before, and at least knew her a little? What if she became horribly offended by what I said? What if she had filed a complaint with my Company? I remember signing a paper that stated I understood my company’s sexual harassment policy. What if I were terminated for violating it, even if by accident? In today’s litigious society, there are a hundred more “what ifs.” I can only assume I was being shown another lesson, and the Universe had my back the entire time. For that, I am grateful.
By the way, before I took a shower tonight, I looked at my naked body in the mirror. While I thought that I looked really sexy, I also thought I had either swallowed a bowling ball, or I am five months pregnant, it’s hard to tell. In addition, I have a strong desire to purchase a black cowboy hat sometime very soon. Please don’t tell the Universe that I said any of this. Thank-you.
Other than that verbal mishap, the rest of that day (and even that week) was beyond wonderful. I can recall only one other thing that was memorable to me. Coincidentally, it happened on the same day I accidentally asked that girl the terrible question.
I was nearing the end of that trip around the Syracuse metro area. I had previously delivered at most, if not all the stops, and I knew there likely wouldn’t be anything picture worthy. It’s not as if I set off every day with plans to take pictures everywhere I go, but I do occasionally see stuff that feeds my hobby of photography. (It also distracts me from sticking to the plan, don’t tell the Universe I told you that either.)
Anyway, I pulled behind yet another shopping center. In preparation for another delivery, I got out to open the trailer doors and noticed a piece what looked to be half-eaten cake lying on the ground. As a man who walks around hungry full time, it piqued my interest. I stood there looking at it for a while having random thoughts as to why it was there.
“Who in their right mind would throw out what looks to have once been a delicious treat? How long has this been here? Where did it come from? What kind was it? How terrible this is for the ants! It’s too cold for them, and they’re missing out on the meal of the century! Where do ants go when it gets chilly outside?”
The more I looked at, the more I thought I could get a halfway decent picture of the thing. I grabbed my camera and a piece of cardboard from the side-box of my truck. I looked around really slowly to make sure nobody was watching, and then I set the camera on the protective cardboard and snapped this picture:
I admit; it’s a weird picture to take. In my defense, I hadn’t taken a picture all day. I didn’t want that former slice-of-heaven to die in vain. Besides, someone worked hard to bake that thing up, it was the least I could do for all their efforts. I’d be willing to wager that you haven’t seen a decent picture of a delicacy like that, from that angle, on wet ground, in over a few weeks. I guess not only do I not know why I write half of the things I write, I also have no explanation for half the pictures I take. Life is beautiful, ain’t it?
I drove away with that spoiled cake fresh on mind. It bothered me as to why it was there. If you guessed that I received yet another call from the Universe that helped to clear things up, give yourself a gold star. Ring, ring, and here we go!
Hi again Jason, you’re exhausting me with your curiosity for the world, but I have to admit it’s fun. I placed the cake there for two reasons. First, life is really a piece of cake if you allow it to be. You can order your cake anyway you would like. Do you want it to be fluffy and fresh and full of goodness, or do you prefer it to be wet, stuck to the ground and less than delicious? I’ve always known that you prefer the yummy kind, but sometimes your reactions and thoughts lead me to think you might really crave the latter? Think about everything I’ve told you over the last few days and then decide which type you would like your life to be. I have faith you’ll see the light, refocus yourself, and stick with the plan! Oh, by the way, the second reason I put the cake there? I thought it would make an awesome picture, and I knew you hadn’t taken a shot all day. I was right. It turned out great!
I will surmise that you know which life I want to have. I’ll also let you know that I don’t drive around every day having conversations with the Universe. She is there when I need her, ready to guide me through life’s twists and turns, always standing by to show me the way when I could use the assistance. Have you ever tried having a talk with her? The process is different than intuition. It’s the next level up, if intuition is the cake, being in tune with the Universe is the icing. One is good enough, but together they add up to something delicious.
I wish more people would give it a try. Some people find it easier to dull down the noise. Some use alcohol to deaden the sound of the creativity that may help them live fuller lives. Heck, I’m guilty of drinking too many beers on occasion. I justify that by thinking it helps me get closer to Hemmingway. I’d like to be like him someday, minus the multiple wives and tragic ending to his life. Enjoying a few beers on occasion is good, doing it too often is a hindrance. I also worry about the youth of today. Their method of numbing their true selves seems to be video games. I know plenty of bright and talented young people who allow themselves to be sucked into the vortex of these things as if it actually serves them a purpose. I see nothing wrong with a little game play here and there. Ten hours a day seems a little excessive to me. There are also plenty of adults I know who fill the void with mindless TV shows. Tune into Facebook sometime, at this moment, someone has probably just posted, “Did you see this or can you believe that?” When I walk into a truck stop at the end of the day to take a shower, there is almost always a TV room filled with truckers watching something. It makes me feel like screaming, “What’s wrong with you guys? Why aren’t you out in your trucks writing or editing your pictures?”
That’s about enough rambling for this session. I guess I don’t understand other people much of the time. The good news is that I understand myself a little more with every passing day. There’s only one thing in life that I know for sure: If I knew half the stuff that I do now when I was much younger, I’d be writing you from my Caribbean retreat, listening to the music of the waves while a gentle warm breeze fills my room. Instead, I am forced to relay these tales from our lovely old home in a historic northeast town I love while freezing because my wife says we’re too poor to turn the thermostat up. Learning takes time. Time is our friend and it is also our enemy, let’s make the best of it.
Good luck in your journey to make your cake the kind you want it to be. As for me, I’ll be trucking along while trying to stick to the plan.
