On January 31, 2007, my father passed away after a long fight with Alzheimer's. My mother was doggedly determined to keep him at home as long as possible and did so until the day before Dad died in a hospice care facility. While we had a person who came several times a day to help Mom with grooming Dad and some other issues, Mom bore the brunt of duty, and it took a noticeable toll on her. She had some major adjustment issues after his passing, as it was the first time in her entire seventy four years she had lived alone. But she persevered.
It was maybe a year later that we all began to notice changes in Mom's behavior, mainly that she was becoming less able to mantain a conversation. But in all other things it appeared that she was functioning fine alone. But the downhill slide in her ability to interact with everyone continued.
Then in June of this year, while we were in the New England area, my sister Cynthia called. She is a teacher in north Georgia and not able to get down to see Mom on a frequent basis. My niece Kimberly and her husband Tim live near Mom and she had called her mom (Cynthia) to tell her that they had taken Mom to the ER because she had been trying to cut the grass with the riding lawnmower (something she wasn't supposed to be doing any more)and had rolled it. She wasn't hurt other than bruises, but it came out that also that same week she had a fall in the yard and had a minor car accident and hadn't told any of us.
Cynthia was out of school and was able to go to stay with Mom immediately. Mom was scheduled for an appointment with a neurologist already but not for a couple of months, so we made some calls and got it bumped up to that week. Cynthia took her to the appointment, the doctor diagnosed mild Parkinson's Disease and dementia, put her on Aricept immediately and scheduled a MRI for the following Monday. We drove home that Friday evening/all day Saturday from Buffalo NY and relieved Cynthia so she could go home and take care of some issues. Donna and I took Mom to the MRI appointment on Monday, Donna went to spend Monday night at our house to straighten things up there and I got up Tuesday morning with Mom. I got her breakfast and gave her her meds and sat down in the recliner next to her and asked her a question. What came out of her mouth was a garbled collection of disconnected words that made no sense.
Now I had worked for four years as a therapist at a rehab facility and three years in the assisted living business and knew full well the symptoms of Cerebral Vascular Accident, or stroke. But the only symptom she was presenting was aphasic speech. There were no swallow issues that I could detect, no paralysis of the arms or legs. But I knew of course that SOMETHING was wrong so I told her I would take her to the ER. I started calling Donna to tell her what was going on, and Mom got herself up and got fully dressed on her own, which furthered my belief that she wasn't having a stroke. And the ER doctor, after performing his assessment, said he didn't think so either, but they would do a CT scan anyway. Long story short, Mom HAD had a stroke, and according to the doctor, it was still "evolving."
It's a scary thing as a "child" to be unexpectedly holding your mother's hand in the ER wondering if this is about to be it. With Dad, the entire family was at his bedside when he passed away, and his passing was inevitable, indeed even a blessing. But this was different. Here I was, alone except for Donna, who was in and out taking care of phone calls and all other manner of details. I was remembering what was in Mom's Living Will, and considering the possibility that I might have to make "the" decision in the event of a furthering of the stroke and a crash. But what I remember most about that was looking into my mother's eyes, and seeing the fear in them and knowing that the fact that she couldn't communicate was making it all the more fearful for her. But I know that I was thankful that I was there and able to hold onto her hand and comfort her as she had done for me all through my accident-prone childhood.
The stay at the hospital lasted from Tuesday a.m. and ended Friday afternoon. (The stay itself is a blog in and of its own!) Cynthia and I began to make arrangements as we knew Mom would be unable to live alone anymore and she wanted to stay at her house, if at all possible. Which I really wanted to do after all she sacrificed to keep Dad at home. We located a local woman who did 24 hour in-home care and who knew Mom already. She had been the caregiver for two of Mom's closest friends at church and came highly recommended. She agreed to stay and it looked like Donna and I would be back out on the road in a week or two, tops. Then the woman called and said she had a family crisis she had to attend to and would be unable to work for us. So, not knowing anyone else that was doing 24 hour care, we contacted an agency. But, not surprisingly, the rate was double what we were going to pay the other lady. And Donna and I came to the realization that we could stay with her, she would pay our bills and it would be less expensive than the agency. Plus, the freight business had gotten so bad that all we were doing was little more than just paying our bills anyway. It was a win-win scenario. So we decided to stay with Mom and our trucking career had run into a detour.
Cliches become cliches because there is a nugget of truth in them. The cliche I am thinking of now is "Life turns on a dime." Because it does. Any slight variations in time, space and circumstance, and life careens off in another direction that was not expected. Sci-fi movies and books often use the time-travel plot device, so much so that when you are in a group and say something about the "time-space continuum" people actually know what you are talking about. In the stories, one has to be careful when traveling into the past not to change or alter anything or the future you return to could be completely different. Indeed, in "Back to the Future" our hero Marty would have no future in which to return. This is also sometimes referred to as the "Butterfly Effect."
Of course, the same applies to the present. Slightest variations in any and all details of our daily lives send shock waves through the future and alter our lives in ways that often we are not even aware. This occurs even at the celular level of our bodies. A jarring blow to the body dislodges a few small cells of plaque in our blood vessels which travel to our brains, causing a clot which can bring about life-changing complication, yes, even the end of life itself. Or in my last post, if the doe had entered the roadway a second or two later than she did, how could that have changed everything? And God only knows how many of these events occur and we have no idea we just dodged or encountered a life event by a second, even a milli-second, that could have, or even did, alter our life path without us even realizing.
So, it appears Donna and I have returned to the main road after our "detour." After nearly five months at home, we are back on course. A lady who had been staying with Mom for a few hours at a time when Donna and I needed a break decided she could stay 24/7 with her. And I am pondering what it all has meant, and will continue to mean, as I know this has sent shock waves through our future. I know that I am thankful for the time we had with her. I will remember the few comments she was able to make and the times I was able to make her laugh. When the Falcons played the Bears on Monday Night Football this year, she and I watched it together. Towards the end of the game it got really tight and I would jump up out of my chair yelling at the TV and Mom was laughing at me. Finally the Falcons pulled it out at the end and I flopped back in my chair and told her I thought I would be the one needing a sleeping pill tonight (she had some insomnia issues and wanted a sleep aid every night) and she laughed heartily. I will remember forever our daily walks around the neighborhood. I would always say something before we left to go walking about making sure I had my cell phone with me, and one day during the walk she asked if I had my phone. I said, "Yeah, you need me to call a cab?" She smiled and chuckled a little and kept going.
So we are back, awaiting the next new course, or detour, and life keeps going.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
Oh, deer!
Two nights ago I was cruising down I80 east in Ohio in the "granny lane" which is, of course, the far right slow lane. (The far left lane is the "hammer lane" as in "put the hammer down" by the way.) The interstate here is 3 lanes wide in both directions with a concrete wall separating them. A fully loaded car hauler semi passes me in the center lane and about the time my front bumper is at the back of his trailer, I see a doe in my lane, trotting quickly across the interstate right to left headed straight into the car haulers path.
Now this is a fairly commonplace event on interstates across America. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration there are 1.5 million accidents a year involving deer and motor vehicles, resulting in over 1 BILLION dollars in damage and 150 FATALITIES. I knew of a woman at our church who hit a deer that flew over the top of her car on impact and and went through the windshield of the car behind her, killing two people. If you want to see some amazing/grusome photos, google car/deer accidents and have at it.
As far as trucking goes, deer are a major nuisence. We don't have the agility of an automobile, so avoidance is difficult. A direct impact will usually take out the radiator of a truck, which can run several thousand dollars, not including body work, and if you are an independent contractor/owner-operator, will knock you out of work several days and cost you even more money. You may have noticed some trucks have add-on equipment to their front ends; large tubular grills that look particularly menacing. They are, in fact, deer catchers, and come in a wide variety of designs and pricing. I have considered getting one for our truck, but keep hesitating, due to the cost, added weight and subsequent increase in wind resistance which leads to declining fuel economy. Plus in over four years of doing this job, we had not even had a close encounter with a deer. A couple of times I have seen deer coming out of the woods toward the interstate at a trot and have hit the air horn before they reach the highway, and they have bolted back into the woods. Most of the time they just stand there, non-plussed, and continue grazing.
But the evidence of collisions are everywhere on the interstates, usually butchered carcasses and bloody smears sometimes stretching tens of yards down the road. I once counted 15 such sites along a 20 mile stretch of interstate in Wisconsin. And almost always both the live sightings and the corpses are does. Bucks are generally too savvy to be hanging around heavily travelled roads, but during the mating season, well, you know where they'll be! Which leads to another occasionally sighting I have noticed: headless deer roadkill. At first I thought that maybe the collision decapitated some deer. Then one day I saw a man stopped on the side of the road carrying a buck's head and tossing it into the back of his pickup, and it dawned on me. It sounds like a Jeff Foxworthy joke: If you stop on the interstate and decapitate a roadkill buck for a trophy rack, you might be a redneck!
Other animals than deer find themselves victims of motorized mayhem as well, of course. It seems to me, completely anecdotely, that raccoons have replaced the oppossum as the number one victims of the interstates. Recently I was driving late at night on a particularly deserted stretch of interstate when I saw a raccoon waddling into my path, cutting across the roadway, from my right to left. He stopped in the middle of my lane, turned to face me, and raised up on his rear legs with his front legs stretching to the sky, as if to say, "AAAAAHHHHHH!" (You really have to stop and get a mental picture of this, it looked like something out of "Over The Hedge".) Because I was aware the interstate was empty, I was able to swerve left and the raccoon recovered enough to cut back to my right and avoid an unpleasant demise.
Spotting live wildlife on the roadside is usually a perk of the job, however, and we have seen a wide variety. Earlier this year on a trip out west we spotted several bald eagles, which we had never seen in the wild before. On our last trip out west we spotted wild turkeys, a fox, a coyote, antelope, and the grand finale, a couple of bighorn sheep rams in the Rocky Mountains west of Denver, all in the same day. And a day later at a truck stop in Denver, I watched a family of foxes playing in a field next to the lot. (I got pictures of that, I will post on Facebook soon. All our pictures are available to look at via a connection at the bottom of the blog.) At another stop in southwestern Pennsylvania I was taking Buffett for a walk off the leash when I saw a skunk stroll out of the woods. Fortunately, I saw him before Buffett did and I was able to get him back on the leash before the olfactory disaster befell us. Buffett has a grand time chasing rabbits at various places around the country, especially the large jackrabbits of southern Texas. My all time Marlin Perkins moment, however, was a couple of years ago in eastern Pennsylvania when early one morning I spotted a young black bear grubbing in a rotted fallen tree.
So, back to a couple of nights ago. I started popping the brakes as soon as I spotted the doe, as did the car hauler. She disappeared from my view as she crossed in front of the semi and he was helpless to employ evasive manuevers. (An eighty thousand pound, eighty foot long vehicle moving at sixtyfive miles per hour is not very nimble, nor can it stop on a football field, much less a dime.) I was not able to ascertain the outcome for the doe. The semi did not stop, which would at least seem to indicate it was not a direct hit. I didn't see her come out the bottom of the semi, but I was too close to see if she cleared the other side. But she would have had another eastbound lane to go, then a four foot concrete wall and three lanes of westbound I80 traffic to negotiate. Not good odds for her. But I didn't actually witness any collision, therefore I will think positive thoughts for her.
But I am rethinking the grill now.
Now this is a fairly commonplace event on interstates across America. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration there are 1.5 million accidents a year involving deer and motor vehicles, resulting in over 1 BILLION dollars in damage and 150 FATALITIES. I knew of a woman at our church who hit a deer that flew over the top of her car on impact and and went through the windshield of the car behind her, killing two people. If you want to see some amazing/grusome photos, google car/deer accidents and have at it.
As far as trucking goes, deer are a major nuisence. We don't have the agility of an automobile, so avoidance is difficult. A direct impact will usually take out the radiator of a truck, which can run several thousand dollars, not including body work, and if you are an independent contractor/owner-operator, will knock you out of work several days and cost you even more money. You may have noticed some trucks have add-on equipment to their front ends; large tubular grills that look particularly menacing. They are, in fact, deer catchers, and come in a wide variety of designs and pricing. I have considered getting one for our truck, but keep hesitating, due to the cost, added weight and subsequent increase in wind resistance which leads to declining fuel economy. Plus in over four years of doing this job, we had not even had a close encounter with a deer. A couple of times I have seen deer coming out of the woods toward the interstate at a trot and have hit the air horn before they reach the highway, and they have bolted back into the woods. Most of the time they just stand there, non-plussed, and continue grazing.
But the evidence of collisions are everywhere on the interstates, usually butchered carcasses and bloody smears sometimes stretching tens of yards down the road. I once counted 15 such sites along a 20 mile stretch of interstate in Wisconsin. And almost always both the live sightings and the corpses are does. Bucks are generally too savvy to be hanging around heavily travelled roads, but during the mating season, well, you know where they'll be! Which leads to another occasionally sighting I have noticed: headless deer roadkill. At first I thought that maybe the collision decapitated some deer. Then one day I saw a man stopped on the side of the road carrying a buck's head and tossing it into the back of his pickup, and it dawned on me. It sounds like a Jeff Foxworthy joke: If you stop on the interstate and decapitate a roadkill buck for a trophy rack, you might be a redneck!
Other animals than deer find themselves victims of motorized mayhem as well, of course. It seems to me, completely anecdotely, that raccoons have replaced the oppossum as the number one victims of the interstates. Recently I was driving late at night on a particularly deserted stretch of interstate when I saw a raccoon waddling into my path, cutting across the roadway, from my right to left. He stopped in the middle of my lane, turned to face me, and raised up on his rear legs with his front legs stretching to the sky, as if to say, "AAAAAHHHHHH!" (You really have to stop and get a mental picture of this, it looked like something out of "Over The Hedge".) Because I was aware the interstate was empty, I was able to swerve left and the raccoon recovered enough to cut back to my right and avoid an unpleasant demise.
Spotting live wildlife on the roadside is usually a perk of the job, however, and we have seen a wide variety. Earlier this year on a trip out west we spotted several bald eagles, which we had never seen in the wild before. On our last trip out west we spotted wild turkeys, a fox, a coyote, antelope, and the grand finale, a couple of bighorn sheep rams in the Rocky Mountains west of Denver, all in the same day. And a day later at a truck stop in Denver, I watched a family of foxes playing in a field next to the lot. (I got pictures of that, I will post on Facebook soon. All our pictures are available to look at via a connection at the bottom of the blog.) At another stop in southwestern Pennsylvania I was taking Buffett for a walk off the leash when I saw a skunk stroll out of the woods. Fortunately, I saw him before Buffett did and I was able to get him back on the leash before the olfactory disaster befell us. Buffett has a grand time chasing rabbits at various places around the country, especially the large jackrabbits of southern Texas. My all time Marlin Perkins moment, however, was a couple of years ago in eastern Pennsylvania when early one morning I spotted a young black bear grubbing in a rotted fallen tree.
So, back to a couple of nights ago. I started popping the brakes as soon as I spotted the doe, as did the car hauler. She disappeared from my view as she crossed in front of the semi and he was helpless to employ evasive manuevers. (An eighty thousand pound, eighty foot long vehicle moving at sixtyfive miles per hour is not very nimble, nor can it stop on a football field, much less a dime.) I was not able to ascertain the outcome for the doe. The semi did not stop, which would at least seem to indicate it was not a direct hit. I didn't see her come out the bottom of the semi, but I was too close to see if she cleared the other side. But she would have had another eastbound lane to go, then a four foot concrete wall and three lanes of westbound I80 traffic to negotiate. Not good odds for her. But I didn't actually witness any collision, therefore I will think positive thoughts for her.
But I am rethinking the grill now.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Attack of the Lot Lizards! Parts 1 and 2
PROLOGUE:
When people find out what it is we do, invariably a guy asks(women NEVER ask) about truck stop prostitution. Or in the vernacular of the truckers, "lot lizards." (In fact, there are stickers for sale in truck stops that have a caricature of a female lizard dressed sleazily with a circle/slash over her that says "No Lot Lizards." I see these on trucks quite frequently.) I have always answered that it isn't that prevalent. We rarely see or hear anything except in a couple of areas of the country. Of course, we don't go looking for action either, and as I have previously blogged, I don't get on the CB much at all and never in the truck stops, so its possible more is going on than we know. But South Dallas is one of those areas and was where we first really witnessed it. It was late at night and we were looking for a place to park and sleep. We were waiting to pull into the lot due to a backup at the fuel pumps, and I watched a young woman get out of one truck and go immediately to the next truck and knock on the door. As we were looking for a place to park on the lot we saw a Dallas police car cruising the lot and we knew we were not in a very reputable area of town. Another time at a different truck stop in South Dallas I watched as a woman drove her car around the lot, stopping at trucks and getting out to knock on the door. But I had never directly encountered a "lot lizard" until.....
PART 1
We were in Memphis last summer (the other area of the country where we've seen this alot) in the middle of the day. Donna was in the sleeper working on something on the computer and I was up front in the driver's seat, just looking around. And I saw a woman walking around the lot, approaching trucks and knocking on doors. The interesting thing about her was that she wasn't dressed provocatively at all. Black slacks, a colorful but non-revealing blouse, no wild make-up or hair or shoes. She would have not looked out of place at church. In fact, I wasn't sure up to this point that she was, indeed, a lot lizard. Well, she wasn't getting any takers when she looked over and saw me sitting up front and headed my way. "Oh, crap!" I thought and jumped back into the sleeper. This did not deter her and she knocked on the door. I went up front and asked, "Can I help you?" She didn't speak at all. She kind of tilted her head down, raised her eyebrows and patted her chest while looking at me with questioning eyes as if to say, "You want this?" I STILL wasn't exactly sure what was going on, so I repeated my question. Again, she didn't speak but repeated her pantomime. I finally said, "No, no thank you." and stepped back into the sleeper. She KNOCKED ON THE DOOR AGAIN!!! I looked at Donna. "You want to handle this?" She went up front. The "LL" saw her and "found" her voice; "Oh I was looking for someone else!" Yeah, I bet you were, I thought, and the woman went away.
Part 2
Well, a couple of weeks ago, we wound up in Memphis and parked at the same truck stop. We had driven all night, my shift resulted in my getting just a few hours sleep before the delivery, so I crawled into bed and went to sleep. Donna was next to me reading. I was awakened by the roaring barking of Buffett our Road Dog Golden Retriever and to an astonished expression on Donna's face. "It's that SAME WOMAN!" she exclaimed. She had approached our truck, knocked on the door, and then actually opened the door, which set off Buffett. "Oh, s***!" she exclaimed and slammed the door shut. But she continued to knock on the door, calling "Jonathan?!? Jonathan!?!" Donna never went up front and shushed me when I started to ask what in the world was going on. Eventually, she went away. And soon after, so did we.
Epilogue
In the face of this economy, it seems we are seeing more of this than we have in the past. I guess desperate times result in desperate measures for some people. I read a news report recently that noted an uptick in the number of first time criminals, notably a youth minister in south Georgia who robbed a bank due to dire financial straights. But if a woman chooses prostitution to make money, why in the world would any woman choose TRUCK STOP prostitution? I mean, as a group, these are probably the dirtiest, smelliest, foulest group of men in America! (I can say this, because, as Jeff Foxworthy says, I are one. A trucker, that is.) Of all the possible clientele a woman could target, why truckers? I guess its because they are an easy sell, due to the above reasons and the fact that they are usually very lonely. I am sad for any woman who feels so desperate as to be compelled to sell her body, but the life of a Lot Lizard is beyond my comprehension. God help them.
When people find out what it is we do, invariably a guy asks(women NEVER ask) about truck stop prostitution. Or in the vernacular of the truckers, "lot lizards." (In fact, there are stickers for sale in truck stops that have a caricature of a female lizard dressed sleazily with a circle/slash over her that says "No Lot Lizards." I see these on trucks quite frequently.) I have always answered that it isn't that prevalent. We rarely see or hear anything except in a couple of areas of the country. Of course, we don't go looking for action either, and as I have previously blogged, I don't get on the CB much at all and never in the truck stops, so its possible more is going on than we know. But South Dallas is one of those areas and was where we first really witnessed it. It was late at night and we were looking for a place to park and sleep. We were waiting to pull into the lot due to a backup at the fuel pumps, and I watched a young woman get out of one truck and go immediately to the next truck and knock on the door. As we were looking for a place to park on the lot we saw a Dallas police car cruising the lot and we knew we were not in a very reputable area of town. Another time at a different truck stop in South Dallas I watched as a woman drove her car around the lot, stopping at trucks and getting out to knock on the door. But I had never directly encountered a "lot lizard" until.....
PART 1
We were in Memphis last summer (the other area of the country where we've seen this alot) in the middle of the day. Donna was in the sleeper working on something on the computer and I was up front in the driver's seat, just looking around. And I saw a woman walking around the lot, approaching trucks and knocking on doors. The interesting thing about her was that she wasn't dressed provocatively at all. Black slacks, a colorful but non-revealing blouse, no wild make-up or hair or shoes. She would have not looked out of place at church. In fact, I wasn't sure up to this point that she was, indeed, a lot lizard. Well, she wasn't getting any takers when she looked over and saw me sitting up front and headed my way. "Oh, crap!" I thought and jumped back into the sleeper. This did not deter her and she knocked on the door. I went up front and asked, "Can I help you?" She didn't speak at all. She kind of tilted her head down, raised her eyebrows and patted her chest while looking at me with questioning eyes as if to say, "You want this?" I STILL wasn't exactly sure what was going on, so I repeated my question. Again, she didn't speak but repeated her pantomime. I finally said, "No, no thank you." and stepped back into the sleeper. She KNOCKED ON THE DOOR AGAIN!!! I looked at Donna. "You want to handle this?" She went up front. The "LL" saw her and "found" her voice; "Oh I was looking for someone else!" Yeah, I bet you were, I thought, and the woman went away.
Part 2
Well, a couple of weeks ago, we wound up in Memphis and parked at the same truck stop. We had driven all night, my shift resulted in my getting just a few hours sleep before the delivery, so I crawled into bed and went to sleep. Donna was next to me reading. I was awakened by the roaring barking of Buffett our Road Dog Golden Retriever and to an astonished expression on Donna's face. "It's that SAME WOMAN!" she exclaimed. She had approached our truck, knocked on the door, and then actually opened the door, which set off Buffett. "Oh, s***!" she exclaimed and slammed the door shut. But she continued to knock on the door, calling "Jonathan?!? Jonathan!?!" Donna never went up front and shushed me when I started to ask what in the world was going on. Eventually, she went away. And soon after, so did we.
Epilogue
In the face of this economy, it seems we are seeing more of this than we have in the past. I guess desperate times result in desperate measures for some people. I read a news report recently that noted an uptick in the number of first time criminals, notably a youth minister in south Georgia who robbed a bank due to dire financial straights. But if a woman chooses prostitution to make money, why in the world would any woman choose TRUCK STOP prostitution? I mean, as a group, these are probably the dirtiest, smelliest, foulest group of men in America! (I can say this, because, as Jeff Foxworthy says, I are one. A trucker, that is.) Of all the possible clientele a woman could target, why truckers? I guess its because they are an easy sell, due to the above reasons and the fact that they are usually very lonely. I am sad for any woman who feels so desperate as to be compelled to sell her body, but the life of a Lot Lizard is beyond my comprehension. God help them.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
"Man, it pours...."
"Seems it never rains in Southern California,
seems I've often heard that kind of talk before.
It never rains in California,
But girl, don't they warn ya,
it pours.
Man, it pours"
A couple of months ago Donna and I made it out to Los Angeles for the weekend after making a delivery there on a Friday. This made us very happy because we would be able to spend the weekend with Terri, my step-daughter who lives there. We got to go to the beach, had lunch on the Santa Monica Pier, and generally observe the bowl of granola (nuts, fruits and flakes) that is life in SoCal. (Photographic evidence is on our Facebook page) It was a little cool with high thin clouds but all in all a lovely day at the beach.
We had parked the truck where Terri works and had to get up early Monday morning to get it out of there before the employees arrived. Well, it was a steady hard cold rain falling, not pleasant at all, and when we got to the truck, the batteries had died and we had to jump it off. Not a great start to the week! We got it to crank, after I had gotten soaking wet, and were off to the truck stop out around Ontario to hang out and wait for the next job. But we missed an exit to I-10 east and had to go up an exit to turn around. Arrgh! Rainy days and mondays, and all that.
We started down the exit ramp and had to stop four or five vehicles short of the intersection due to a traffic light. I looked ahead and saw a figure huddled under what looked like a garbage bag with holes cut out for the head and arms. The person was holding one of those signs that we all have seen; the "will work for food" or "homeless, hungry, please help" variety (Funniest one of those I've seen is "why lie, I need a beer.") Except this sign had been rendered unreadable by the cold hard rain that was pounding the area; the running ink made the sign look like a Rorchach Test. Donna and I were out of cash save for the coins we throw in the ash tray to use for doing laundry. Donna started digging out all the quarters, I was studying the person closer as we waited on the light and said to Donna, "Is that a girl?" The light changed, we started rolling up to the intersection. I let the window down, Donna handed me the large fistful of change, had to be three or four bucks, I slowed as we approached the figure, and I reached out to quickly hand off the money so we wouldn't slow traffic behind us, and I made eye contact with a young woman who would probably be attractive when not looking like a drowned rat.
Now this is a scene that we all face, at least anyone who ever gets out of the house at all anymore. Especially in these economic hard times. And we all have to come to some decision as to how we are going to handle it. I worked with a woman at South Fulton Medical Center who saw the same people with little variation every day at the exit ramp of Cleveland Avenue at I-75. She decided to fix little bags of food with a bible tract and give them to the people on the corner every day. After several days of the same person being there to receive the food, the guy on the corner looked in the bag and groaned, "Tuna AGAIN?" Obviously he hadn't heard the one about the gift horse.
Most people these days turn away. They fall mainly into three camps. One group believes they are all con men and they should go get jobs, another believes that even if they are truly needy, its their own fault it happened so they need to go fix it themselves. Another group sympathizes with them but decides to give money to charities that can better discern between the truly needy and the lazy cons. I have seen both sides of this, having gone to Georgia State University in the late 70's in downtown Atlanta. Yes there are drunks, drug addicts and/or con men out there. And they prey off the sympathy of others, just like there are people who cheat the welfare system and live off the government. And few things rile me more than people who arrogantly believe and act like they are entitled. But I entered into a discussion of this with a friend of mine who was railing over the welfare state in this country and I asked him, "What percentage of the people on welfare are frauds, by your estimate?" I think he said about 40 percent. "So you want to punish the 60 percent who are truly needy and deserving in order to eliminate the frauds?" He didn't have an answer.
Probably my most memorable encounter up to the time of this story came at GSU one night as I was leaving the gym after an activity. A man approached me, one hand was bandaged and the other was holding some papers. The papers were used in the approach, they were from Grady Hospital and were about an injury to his hand, or at least that's what he told me, I didn't look too closely at them. After a brief conversation, it boiled down to that he needed a place to spend the night; it was winter and it was cold. I suggested the mission right around the corner but he said it was full and plus people would rob you there. He knew of a place over by Spring Street that was safe but they charged eight bucks a night and he didn't have it. I was watching and listening to him closely; his eyes were clear and he was fairly well spoken, not slurring. I took a leap of faith and offered him a ride over to the shelter. He told me he owed them for a night and they wouldn't let him in until he paid up his bill, so when we got there I gave him a twenty. After I gave him the money he turned to me and asked, "Do you read the Bible?" I was caught off guard. I was raised in a Baptist church and was currently teaching Sunday School. I stammered, "Uh, yeah!" He looked dead into my eyes and said, "Matthew 25:40..." and proceeded to quote the verse, in full and perfectly, to the stunned Sunday School teacher. He shook my hand, got out of the car and literally bounded up the stairs and into the shelter.....
Sometimes things happen in mere seconds with total strangers that haunt you for a lifetime. In the City of Angels, in that young woman's eyes, in just a flash of time, I saw desperation, embarrassment, humiliation and gratitude. I reached out with the fistful of coins and her hands were trembling so badly from the cold and rain that she dropped probably a third of them, but she still gave an embarrassed smile and said through chattering teeth, "Oh, THANK you!" As we were rolling I called out good luck to her.
"Out of work, out of my head,
out of self-respect, I'm outta bread,
I'm under-loved, I'm under-fed,
I wanna go home...."
I wish we had done more. I wish we had stopped, traffic be damned, and taken the time to try and help her out of her mess. But we didn't. No, I was driving. I didn't. And I have the image of her trembling hands dropping the coins burned into my brain forever.
I hope if she had LA dreams they finally came true. If not, I hope she made it home safely without having to compromise herself. I hope she got to the people who love her and they took her in and didn't judge. I hope for all of us that we don't punish the truly needy because of the frauds. I hope that we all will remember that when we give a cup of water it is in the Master's Name.
Matthew 25:35-39
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"
Then came the verse the man quoted me, Matthew 25:40;
"The King will reply,'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me.'"
seems I've often heard that kind of talk before.
It never rains in California,
But girl, don't they warn ya,
it pours.
Man, it pours"
A couple of months ago Donna and I made it out to Los Angeles for the weekend after making a delivery there on a Friday. This made us very happy because we would be able to spend the weekend with Terri, my step-daughter who lives there. We got to go to the beach, had lunch on the Santa Monica Pier, and generally observe the bowl of granola (nuts, fruits and flakes) that is life in SoCal. (Photographic evidence is on our Facebook page) It was a little cool with high thin clouds but all in all a lovely day at the beach.
We had parked the truck where Terri works and had to get up early Monday morning to get it out of there before the employees arrived. Well, it was a steady hard cold rain falling, not pleasant at all, and when we got to the truck, the batteries had died and we had to jump it off. Not a great start to the week! We got it to crank, after I had gotten soaking wet, and were off to the truck stop out around Ontario to hang out and wait for the next job. But we missed an exit to I-10 east and had to go up an exit to turn around. Arrgh! Rainy days and mondays, and all that.
We started down the exit ramp and had to stop four or five vehicles short of the intersection due to a traffic light. I looked ahead and saw a figure huddled under what looked like a garbage bag with holes cut out for the head and arms. The person was holding one of those signs that we all have seen; the "will work for food" or "homeless, hungry, please help" variety (Funniest one of those I've seen is "why lie, I need a beer.") Except this sign had been rendered unreadable by the cold hard rain that was pounding the area; the running ink made the sign look like a Rorchach Test. Donna and I were out of cash save for the coins we throw in the ash tray to use for doing laundry. Donna started digging out all the quarters, I was studying the person closer as we waited on the light and said to Donna, "Is that a girl?" The light changed, we started rolling up to the intersection. I let the window down, Donna handed me the large fistful of change, had to be three or four bucks, I slowed as we approached the figure, and I reached out to quickly hand off the money so we wouldn't slow traffic behind us, and I made eye contact with a young woman who would probably be attractive when not looking like a drowned rat.
Now this is a scene that we all face, at least anyone who ever gets out of the house at all anymore. Especially in these economic hard times. And we all have to come to some decision as to how we are going to handle it. I worked with a woman at South Fulton Medical Center who saw the same people with little variation every day at the exit ramp of Cleveland Avenue at I-75. She decided to fix little bags of food with a bible tract and give them to the people on the corner every day. After several days of the same person being there to receive the food, the guy on the corner looked in the bag and groaned, "Tuna AGAIN?" Obviously he hadn't heard the one about the gift horse.
Most people these days turn away. They fall mainly into three camps. One group believes they are all con men and they should go get jobs, another believes that even if they are truly needy, its their own fault it happened so they need to go fix it themselves. Another group sympathizes with them but decides to give money to charities that can better discern between the truly needy and the lazy cons. I have seen both sides of this, having gone to Georgia State University in the late 70's in downtown Atlanta. Yes there are drunks, drug addicts and/or con men out there. And they prey off the sympathy of others, just like there are people who cheat the welfare system and live off the government. And few things rile me more than people who arrogantly believe and act like they are entitled. But I entered into a discussion of this with a friend of mine who was railing over the welfare state in this country and I asked him, "What percentage of the people on welfare are frauds, by your estimate?" I think he said about 40 percent. "So you want to punish the 60 percent who are truly needy and deserving in order to eliminate the frauds?" He didn't have an answer.
Probably my most memorable encounter up to the time of this story came at GSU one night as I was leaving the gym after an activity. A man approached me, one hand was bandaged and the other was holding some papers. The papers were used in the approach, they were from Grady Hospital and were about an injury to his hand, or at least that's what he told me, I didn't look too closely at them. After a brief conversation, it boiled down to that he needed a place to spend the night; it was winter and it was cold. I suggested the mission right around the corner but he said it was full and plus people would rob you there. He knew of a place over by Spring Street that was safe but they charged eight bucks a night and he didn't have it. I was watching and listening to him closely; his eyes were clear and he was fairly well spoken, not slurring. I took a leap of faith and offered him a ride over to the shelter. He told me he owed them for a night and they wouldn't let him in until he paid up his bill, so when we got there I gave him a twenty. After I gave him the money he turned to me and asked, "Do you read the Bible?" I was caught off guard. I was raised in a Baptist church and was currently teaching Sunday School. I stammered, "Uh, yeah!" He looked dead into my eyes and said, "Matthew 25:40..." and proceeded to quote the verse, in full and perfectly, to the stunned Sunday School teacher. He shook my hand, got out of the car and literally bounded up the stairs and into the shelter.....
Sometimes things happen in mere seconds with total strangers that haunt you for a lifetime. In the City of Angels, in that young woman's eyes, in just a flash of time, I saw desperation, embarrassment, humiliation and gratitude. I reached out with the fistful of coins and her hands were trembling so badly from the cold and rain that she dropped probably a third of them, but she still gave an embarrassed smile and said through chattering teeth, "Oh, THANK you!" As we were rolling I called out good luck to her.
"Out of work, out of my head,
out of self-respect, I'm outta bread,
I'm under-loved, I'm under-fed,
I wanna go home...."
I wish we had done more. I wish we had stopped, traffic be damned, and taken the time to try and help her out of her mess. But we didn't. No, I was driving. I didn't. And I have the image of her trembling hands dropping the coins burned into my brain forever.
I hope if she had LA dreams they finally came true. If not, I hope she made it home safely without having to compromise herself. I hope she got to the people who love her and they took her in and didn't judge. I hope for all of us that we don't punish the truly needy because of the frauds. I hope that we all will remember that when we give a cup of water it is in the Master's Name.
Matthew 25:35-39
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"
Then came the verse the man quoted me, Matthew 25:40;
"The King will reply,'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me.'"
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
C.B., or not C.B.? That Is The Question!
I recently re-established contact with an old friend after a six or seven year absence. She was unaware of our new profession, and in the process of catching up, she asked, "Do truckers still have CB's?"
My experience with CB radio started, like most people, in the 1970's. I got one around 1975, and since I was driving a VW Rabbit, my handle was "Bugs Bunny." Of course, the song "Convoy" and the movie "Smokey and the Bandit" reflected the explosion of popularity of the things, and I enjoyed having it in the car for a couple of years, learning the lingo and such.
But then, along with the rest of the country, my infatuation died, and it went back to be mainly the domain of the trucking industry. And a major shift occured when the government deregulated the airwaves. Which meant you didn't have to have a license to operate a radio and there was carte blanche on what you could say on the air.
Donna and I got into trucking in March of 2005. We did without a CB for nearly two years. I kept thinking it would be good to have one, but kept putting it off. Then we got our new truck in December of 2006, and a little later I took the plunge. So I hooked up the radio while at home and we took off across the top end perimeter of Atlanta to go to a pickup, and I flipped the switch for the first time in thiry years. Immediately a highly irritated southern voice came screetching over the air. "That G.D M.F.'n Gordon cut off Junior yesterday and cost Junior the G.D.M.F.'n race!" Whoa! This language was illegal thirty years ago. Gotta love deregulation! This rampage lasted several more minutes and I turned it off. I came to find out that no one used the old "10" codes anymore, and if anyone used "good buddy" it was to refer to a man of, shall we say, an alternative lifestyle. And thats pretty much how it was for the next two years. It was helpful when there were weather and traffic issues, but the polite friendly voices that I heard in my teenaged years were replaced by racist, misogynistic, ignorant, right wing, gun lovin' nut jobs with giant amps that could, and did, blast anyone with dissenting opinions off the air.
And the guys who do stay on the air continually resent those who pop in when there are traffic problems. We got caught in a bumper to bumper jam in Virginia once and pulled off to get fuel. I left the radio on and listened to one guy roar at every driver who came on the air asking what the problem was, "Go back to yer XM and let IT tell you what the problem is you #$#%%^^$#@^***!!!! And this went on for at least half an hour, at least fifteen or twenty times.
I went about three weeks once without turning it on at all. I decided to see what was going on out there, and was greeted immediately, the very second I turned on the radio, by someone announcing this jewel: "Yeah, I even sucked my own d*** one time!" Well, nothing had changed, I thought, as I reached up and flipped it off again.
So when my friend asked the question, "do truckers still have CB's?", the above was the story I related to her. And I immediately began to think about blogging the story about the death of civility on CB radio, indeed the demise of civilization itself,
and then....
A couple of weeks ago Donna and I were on a run where we had to drive 75 miles of twisting, turning, Pennsylvania two lane blacktop through a National Forest in a snowstorm in the middle of the night to get to a delivery. Our GPS instructed us that we had arrived at our location, but it wasn't there (another blog about technology for another day). What WAS there was a PA DOT station where they were loading salt and sand into trucks, one of which had its headlights on, facing into the roadway. We went creeping slowly by, looking for anything close to a factory, and I heard a voice, "Whatcha doin' big truck?" I had left the CB on, squelched low, and had forgotten about it. Donna and I looked at each other. "Is he talking to us?" Donna asked. "Whatcha lookin' for, big truck?" came over the air again. I grabbed the mic and told him the name of the company we were trying to find. "You got about five or six more miles to go, it'll be up on the left next to the railroad tracks, just pull into the first dock you see. You carryin' powder?" Obviously a local. Well we chatted a couple of more minutes and he wished us well and we thanked him and we continued on our way.
And so then I had to re-think this blog entry. Where I was poised to bury CB radio, I must now praise. Like nearly everything in life, it is a mixture of good and evil. And all groups have that mixture: Black and white, rich and poor, republican and democrat. The problem is that the evil tends to be the loud ones, the ones with "giant amps" blowing everyone else away, the ones that get all the attention (usually thanks to the media) and who we point to when condemning that group. The truth, however, is that no one group or person is all good or all evil, and our eyes must remain open to the possibility of good in any and all situations and peoples, no matter what our predjudices and prior learning experiences lead us to believe.
My experience with CB radio started, like most people, in the 1970's. I got one around 1975, and since I was driving a VW Rabbit, my handle was "Bugs Bunny." Of course, the song "Convoy" and the movie "Smokey and the Bandit" reflected the explosion of popularity of the things, and I enjoyed having it in the car for a couple of years, learning the lingo and such.
But then, along with the rest of the country, my infatuation died, and it went back to be mainly the domain of the trucking industry. And a major shift occured when the government deregulated the airwaves. Which meant you didn't have to have a license to operate a radio and there was carte blanche on what you could say on the air.
Donna and I got into trucking in March of 2005. We did without a CB for nearly two years. I kept thinking it would be good to have one, but kept putting it off. Then we got our new truck in December of 2006, and a little later I took the plunge. So I hooked up the radio while at home and we took off across the top end perimeter of Atlanta to go to a pickup, and I flipped the switch for the first time in thiry years. Immediately a highly irritated southern voice came screetching over the air. "That G.D M.F.'n Gordon cut off Junior yesterday and cost Junior the G.D.M.F.'n race!" Whoa! This language was illegal thirty years ago. Gotta love deregulation! This rampage lasted several more minutes and I turned it off. I came to find out that no one used the old "10" codes anymore, and if anyone used "good buddy" it was to refer to a man of, shall we say, an alternative lifestyle. And thats pretty much how it was for the next two years. It was helpful when there were weather and traffic issues, but the polite friendly voices that I heard in my teenaged years were replaced by racist, misogynistic, ignorant, right wing, gun lovin' nut jobs with giant amps that could, and did, blast anyone with dissenting opinions off the air.
And the guys who do stay on the air continually resent those who pop in when there are traffic problems. We got caught in a bumper to bumper jam in Virginia once and pulled off to get fuel. I left the radio on and listened to one guy roar at every driver who came on the air asking what the problem was, "Go back to yer XM and let IT tell you what the problem is you #$#%%^^$#@^***!!!! And this went on for at least half an hour, at least fifteen or twenty times.
I went about three weeks once without turning it on at all. I decided to see what was going on out there, and was greeted immediately, the very second I turned on the radio, by someone announcing this jewel: "Yeah, I even sucked my own d*** one time!" Well, nothing had changed, I thought, as I reached up and flipped it off again.
So when my friend asked the question, "do truckers still have CB's?", the above was the story I related to her. And I immediately began to think about blogging the story about the death of civility on CB radio, indeed the demise of civilization itself,
and then....
A couple of weeks ago Donna and I were on a run where we had to drive 75 miles of twisting, turning, Pennsylvania two lane blacktop through a National Forest in a snowstorm in the middle of the night to get to a delivery. Our GPS instructed us that we had arrived at our location, but it wasn't there (another blog about technology for another day). What WAS there was a PA DOT station where they were loading salt and sand into trucks, one of which had its headlights on, facing into the roadway. We went creeping slowly by, looking for anything close to a factory, and I heard a voice, "Whatcha doin' big truck?" I had left the CB on, squelched low, and had forgotten about it. Donna and I looked at each other. "Is he talking to us?" Donna asked. "Whatcha lookin' for, big truck?" came over the air again. I grabbed the mic and told him the name of the company we were trying to find. "You got about five or six more miles to go, it'll be up on the left next to the railroad tracks, just pull into the first dock you see. You carryin' powder?" Obviously a local. Well we chatted a couple of more minutes and he wished us well and we thanked him and we continued on our way.
And so then I had to re-think this blog entry. Where I was poised to bury CB radio, I must now praise. Like nearly everything in life, it is a mixture of good and evil. And all groups have that mixture: Black and white, rich and poor, republican and democrat. The problem is that the evil tends to be the loud ones, the ones with "giant amps" blowing everyone else away, the ones that get all the attention (usually thanks to the media) and who we point to when condemning that group. The truth, however, is that no one group or person is all good or all evil, and our eyes must remain open to the possibility of good in any and all situations and peoples, no matter what our predjudices and prior learning experiences lead us to believe.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
January 20th, 2009: The End of an Error
The title is from a bumper sticker I saw many times last year leading up to the election. Another is "Somewhere in Texas, a village is missing an idiot." We saw a clever one once: "A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V X Y Z"
Get it? No W.
I have never been a fan of W's. I didn't vote in 2000, mainly because I wasn't enthused about either candidate, plus Georgia is such a solidly republican state I knew my vote wasn't going to make a difference. Georgia went for Bush at a 60 percent rate. 2004 was different. I wasn't a big fan of John Kerry's either but I was pissed and I wanted to do SOMETHING. If the president is the CEO of the country, then I felt like he needed to be fired. Then the perfect ca-ca financial storm hits in the second term, and, well....
I'm not going to pile on W any more. I have always held that it was possible, however slight the odds, that his vision of democracy taking root in the Middle East might happen. But 5000 years of history say otherwise. Never has western man gone into the Middle East and anything good happened. When Reagan pulled the troops out of Beirut after the Embassy bombing and all those Marines died, he said in his memoirs that he hadn't counted on the irrationality of the people of the region. But time will tell. And his efforts to fund the war on AIDS in Africa was, and still is, a noble cause. And I never had a problem with the regime change in Afghanistan either. Their leaders publicly lined themselves up with Al Queda and Bin Laden after they attacked us. But history will have the final say.
Now we start a new era. I voted for Barack Obama. I believe he is going to be a much more centrist president than his voting record in Congress would indicate. I believe he is going to try to be a uniter, a bipartisan leader of the country. All his moves up to now point to that being the case.
But I am also a realist. He may succede and be a good president or he may not. I also know there are a lot of crazies out there and I fear for his and his family's safety. And I know the story of the Zen Master and the Little Boy, as told by Gust Avrokatos in "Charlie Wilson's War."
We'll see.
We made our delivery saturday in Wilmington OH, rested all day sunday and immediately got a load on monday picking up in Lexington KY and delivering into Washington DC monday night. Which we did and now it is tuesday and we accepted a job picking up in New Jersey going to two stops in western New York state. The ball keeps on bouncing.....
Get it? No W.
I have never been a fan of W's. I didn't vote in 2000, mainly because I wasn't enthused about either candidate, plus Georgia is such a solidly republican state I knew my vote wasn't going to make a difference. Georgia went for Bush at a 60 percent rate. 2004 was different. I wasn't a big fan of John Kerry's either but I was pissed and I wanted to do SOMETHING. If the president is the CEO of the country, then I felt like he needed to be fired. Then the perfect ca-ca financial storm hits in the second term, and, well....
I'm not going to pile on W any more. I have always held that it was possible, however slight the odds, that his vision of democracy taking root in the Middle East might happen. But 5000 years of history say otherwise. Never has western man gone into the Middle East and anything good happened. When Reagan pulled the troops out of Beirut after the Embassy bombing and all those Marines died, he said in his memoirs that he hadn't counted on the irrationality of the people of the region. But time will tell. And his efforts to fund the war on AIDS in Africa was, and still is, a noble cause. And I never had a problem with the regime change in Afghanistan either. Their leaders publicly lined themselves up with Al Queda and Bin Laden after they attacked us. But history will have the final say.
Now we start a new era. I voted for Barack Obama. I believe he is going to be a much more centrist president than his voting record in Congress would indicate. I believe he is going to try to be a uniter, a bipartisan leader of the country. All his moves up to now point to that being the case.
But I am also a realist. He may succede and be a good president or he may not. I also know there are a lot of crazies out there and I fear for his and his family's safety. And I know the story of the Zen Master and the Little Boy, as told by Gust Avrokatos in "Charlie Wilson's War."
We'll see.
We made our delivery saturday in Wilmington OH, rested all day sunday and immediately got a load on monday picking up in Lexington KY and delivering into Washington DC monday night. Which we did and now it is tuesday and we accepted a job picking up in New Jersey going to two stops in western New York state. The ball keeps on bouncing.....
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Oh! Canada?
We were sitting in Burlington VT and we got a load offer picking up in Montreal, delivering to Wilmington, OH. Now the pay per mile was low but this is an area that not much freight moves out of, the temperature that morning hit eightteen below zero, it was the middle of the afternoon on a friday and the clock was ticking. The last thing we wanted was to get stuck in this icebox for the weekend, and Ohio would be a good place to start on monday. So we took it.
Well the first problem we noted was when we got the info, there was a note about not sending tractor-trailors to this address, which meant it was going to be a tight fit for our truck, even though it is just a straight truck. Then we saw it was in downtown Montreal. Then the directions were off and we had trouble locating the address. Long story short, we had to squeeze the truck down an alley to get near the dock, and it was too tight to back up to the dock, so we had to load 43 boxes at 50 pounds each in subzero temps. We finally got on our way but missed a turn and had to work to get back on track. But we did, which led up to the border crossing, which we always are nervous about because, well, a lot of the border guards are assholes. And that leads me to the topic of this blog.
Our first crossing into Canada occured when we were still newbies. Donna was driving, I was in the sleeper. The agent took our paperwork (which we send in to a broker when we make the pickup and the broker clears the freight through customs for us), asked questions like where she was from, how long would we be staying in Canada, do we have any weapons on board, etc, and then asked if there was anyone else in the truck. Donna said, "Just my husband who is asleep in the back.) The guard snapped, "Get him up here!" So I got into the front and he barked, "You're supposed to be up front! You could have been a terrorist!" I just kind of gave an apologetic smile. He glared at me and snarled, "You see I'm not laughing!" Well, we had heard these guys don't have a sense of humor. I remember a story from Sports Illustrated about a ballplayer who when asked by a Canadian customs agent if he had anything to declare stated, "I'm proud to be an American!" He was promptly detained for questioning. Anyway, we made it through and made our delivery.
Early on, we applied for and recieved something called FAST cards, which is another type of ID cards that have our pictures on them and says we have been approved by both the US and Canadian government for delivering freight across the border. We always give those cards as ID with our shipping paperwork and that has never been a problem....except once. We were crossing into Canada and I was driving. I usually have Donna drive in, because most guards are male, and Donna is pretty and, well...you get the picture. (Yeah, its sexist. Sue me.) Anyway, this guard is a matronly heavy set woman who looks at our FAST cards and says something about needing photo ID. I made the mistake of questioning her, saying we always have used the FAST cards with no problems. She said something about this not being a FAST approved load and then stated very matter-of-factly, "I am making my SECOND request for photo ID." Well, I didn't think there was going to be a third request that didn't involve multiple guards and physical violence so we dug out our passports and she let us on through.
The US Customs agents are the worst however. The best of them usually are just robotic, and the others have attitudes that make you think they are sitting there all day with a raging case of hemmorhoids, just waiting for someone to give them an excuse to go off. Which I did once. Border crossing policy and procedures change quite often since 9/11 and one of the changes was something called an ACE Manifest. Which all it was, and still is, is a piece of paper with the FedEx Custom Critical load number, driver's name and truck license plate number on it. Thats it. Nothing else. Originally we able to just hand write this info down on any piece of paper and give that to the US Customs guard. Until.....I was driving (first mistake) and gave the paper to a guard crossing into the US at Buffalo. He looked at it like I had given him used toilet paper, practically threw it back at me and starting giving me attitude. I stated our dispatchers told us that a handwritten ACE form was OK. He snapped some more and then ordered me to go to the Xray machine and then go inside the customs building. I was flabbergasted by this point, and pulled forward, then realized I didn't see where the Xray machine was. So I pulled over to the customs building, and started to open the door to get out of the truck to go into customs. (This is starting to sound like Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant" draft induction story) I got the truck door open about an inch when there stood another customs guard pushing my door closed with his Official US Customs Flashlight with one hand with his other placed on his US Customs Official 9mm Pistol and snarling, "YOU WERE TOLD TO GO TO XRAY!" I explained I didn't see the Xray. Turns out I had already passed it, so the customs guard jumped into his Offficial US Customs Minivan and led us in making a U-turn to lead us to the now infamous Official US Customs Xray Area, where we had to all exit the truck while it was scanned for nuclear and biological or any weapons of mass distruction. We then were told we didn't have any nuclear or biological weapons or any contraband of any type on our truck, so now we had to go into the Customs office where they would tell us when we could cross with our EMPTY truck. Yes, our truck had no freight in it at all. We were crossing empty to get back to the land of our birth, and we still had to have a piece of paper saying our name, load number (when empty you use the number you crossed in with) and truck license plate number. And this is only when crossing from Canada into the US. Empty or loaded. I guess thats what galls me the most, being treated like a criminal by my own country. At border crossings, The US Constitution is ignored. You are guilty until proven innocent.
We have had positive experiences in Canada however. The people there are generally very friendly. We had a delivery 250 miles north of Toronto going to a town called Timmons, Ontario. It is famous for being the hometown of Shania Twain, as the billboard going into town proudly proclaimed. I stopped to get a picture of it. Donna just rolled her eyes. Obviously on that trip we were deep into Canada. We stopped at a remote rest area that had a large sign in it that one side stated "All water on this side of the sign flows into the Atlantic Ocean" I was shocked when I went around to the other side which proclaimed, "All water on this side of the sign flows into the ARCTIC Ocean" (Caps mine). We also had a great day on a beach in Toronto on Lake Ontario. We have wondered about living next to water that is too cold to swim in, even in July. Seems frustrating to a Southerner.
Early on, all our pick ups and deliveries in Canada were in Ontario, which, aside from the border crossings and the currency, is not much different from being in
the US. However, then we had to go into Quebec. THEN you know you are in a foriegn country. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, is in French. And often you get to a pick up or delivery and no one there speaks any functional english at all. Which then you get to do a primitive version of sign language and piecing together my extremely limited french vocabulary with their similarly limited english. It has always worked, eventually. I did enjoy a rare occasion when I had to go into the main office of a business instead of the docks. A pretty woman behind the receptionists desk looked up at me and said liltingly, "Bon Jour!" Ahh, the French. I am remembering two vastly different movies. In "My Fair Lady" Professor Higgins is berating all countries for not teaching their children their own languages. About the French he states "the french don't care what you say, just as long as you pronounce it properly". In the second Matrix movie, the french bad guy soliliquies on the beauty of cursing in french. Quebec is doggedly determined to remain French; back in the sixties or seventies there was a secessionist movement, some bombings occurred and some people actually were jailed. One person told us that in Quebec the schools are highly restrictive about teaching english.
Another thing we have noticed is that Canadians don't shut their blinds at night. We were driving through rural Canada one night and I noted it to Donna. At first, she thought I was crazy. Then we both got to looking, and it was true. Large windows, with no blinds pulled and we could see whatever they were doing in the house. Shortly after noticing this, we watched "Bowling for Columbine" in which Micheal Moore is noting that while Canadians have guns like us, they don't shoot each other nearly as often as we do. (He opined that he thought that it was that our media, with its "if it bleeds, it leads" mentality has generated a fear culture among Americans. Which I thought was unusual; a liberal blaming the media for something.) Anyway, it came out also that Canandians don't lock their doors. And he went door to door just opening doors to people's houses without knocking and then interviewing them. So I wonder if the blinds thing is related to the unlocked doors. No secrets, no fear.
Anyway, thats my take on Canada. We will be posting pix on Facebook of our Canadian adventures soon.
This past week, we started in Atlanta, delivered a load of Guitar Hero III to Brownsville, TX, moved up to Houston and caught a load going to eastern Indiana, jumped to western Ohio to pick up a load going to Vermont, from there a load of videos in Montreal going back to Ohio, and here we are just south of Cincinnati in Kentucky, ready for the next week to start.
"The road goes on forever, and the party never ends....."
Robert Earl Keen
Well the first problem we noted was when we got the info, there was a note about not sending tractor-trailors to this address, which meant it was going to be a tight fit for our truck, even though it is just a straight truck. Then we saw it was in downtown Montreal. Then the directions were off and we had trouble locating the address. Long story short, we had to squeeze the truck down an alley to get near the dock, and it was too tight to back up to the dock, so we had to load 43 boxes at 50 pounds each in subzero temps. We finally got on our way but missed a turn and had to work to get back on track. But we did, which led up to the border crossing, which we always are nervous about because, well, a lot of the border guards are assholes. And that leads me to the topic of this blog.
Our first crossing into Canada occured when we were still newbies. Donna was driving, I was in the sleeper. The agent took our paperwork (which we send in to a broker when we make the pickup and the broker clears the freight through customs for us), asked questions like where she was from, how long would we be staying in Canada, do we have any weapons on board, etc, and then asked if there was anyone else in the truck. Donna said, "Just my husband who is asleep in the back.) The guard snapped, "Get him up here!" So I got into the front and he barked, "You're supposed to be up front! You could have been a terrorist!" I just kind of gave an apologetic smile. He glared at me and snarled, "You see I'm not laughing!" Well, we had heard these guys don't have a sense of humor. I remember a story from Sports Illustrated about a ballplayer who when asked by a Canadian customs agent if he had anything to declare stated, "I'm proud to be an American!" He was promptly detained for questioning. Anyway, we made it through and made our delivery.
Early on, we applied for and recieved something called FAST cards, which is another type of ID cards that have our pictures on them and says we have been approved by both the US and Canadian government for delivering freight across the border. We always give those cards as ID with our shipping paperwork and that has never been a problem....except once. We were crossing into Canada and I was driving. I usually have Donna drive in, because most guards are male, and Donna is pretty and, well...you get the picture. (Yeah, its sexist. Sue me.) Anyway, this guard is a matronly heavy set woman who looks at our FAST cards and says something about needing photo ID. I made the mistake of questioning her, saying we always have used the FAST cards with no problems. She said something about this not being a FAST approved load and then stated very matter-of-factly, "I am making my SECOND request for photo ID." Well, I didn't think there was going to be a third request that didn't involve multiple guards and physical violence so we dug out our passports and she let us on through.
The US Customs agents are the worst however. The best of them usually are just robotic, and the others have attitudes that make you think they are sitting there all day with a raging case of hemmorhoids, just waiting for someone to give them an excuse to go off. Which I did once. Border crossing policy and procedures change quite often since 9/11 and one of the changes was something called an ACE Manifest. Which all it was, and still is, is a piece of paper with the FedEx Custom Critical load number, driver's name and truck license plate number on it. Thats it. Nothing else. Originally we able to just hand write this info down on any piece of paper and give that to the US Customs guard. Until.....I was driving (first mistake) and gave the paper to a guard crossing into the US at Buffalo. He looked at it like I had given him used toilet paper, practically threw it back at me and starting giving me attitude. I stated our dispatchers told us that a handwritten ACE form was OK. He snapped some more and then ordered me to go to the Xray machine and then go inside the customs building. I was flabbergasted by this point, and pulled forward, then realized I didn't see where the Xray machine was. So I pulled over to the customs building, and started to open the door to get out of the truck to go into customs. (This is starting to sound like Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant" draft induction story) I got the truck door open about an inch when there stood another customs guard pushing my door closed with his Official US Customs Flashlight with one hand with his other placed on his US Customs Official 9mm Pistol and snarling, "YOU WERE TOLD TO GO TO XRAY!" I explained I didn't see the Xray. Turns out I had already passed it, so the customs guard jumped into his Offficial US Customs Minivan and led us in making a U-turn to lead us to the now infamous Official US Customs Xray Area, where we had to all exit the truck while it was scanned for nuclear and biological or any weapons of mass distruction. We then were told we didn't have any nuclear or biological weapons or any contraband of any type on our truck, so now we had to go into the Customs office where they would tell us when we could cross with our EMPTY truck. Yes, our truck had no freight in it at all. We were crossing empty to get back to the land of our birth, and we still had to have a piece of paper saying our name, load number (when empty you use the number you crossed in with) and truck license plate number. And this is only when crossing from Canada into the US. Empty or loaded. I guess thats what galls me the most, being treated like a criminal by my own country. At border crossings, The US Constitution is ignored. You are guilty until proven innocent.
We have had positive experiences in Canada however. The people there are generally very friendly. We had a delivery 250 miles north of Toronto going to a town called Timmons, Ontario. It is famous for being the hometown of Shania Twain, as the billboard going into town proudly proclaimed. I stopped to get a picture of it. Donna just rolled her eyes. Obviously on that trip we were deep into Canada. We stopped at a remote rest area that had a large sign in it that one side stated "All water on this side of the sign flows into the Atlantic Ocean" I was shocked when I went around to the other side which proclaimed, "All water on this side of the sign flows into the ARCTIC Ocean" (Caps mine). We also had a great day on a beach in Toronto on Lake Ontario. We have wondered about living next to water that is too cold to swim in, even in July. Seems frustrating to a Southerner.
Early on, all our pick ups and deliveries in Canada were in Ontario, which, aside from the border crossings and the currency, is not much different from being in
the US. However, then we had to go into Quebec. THEN you know you are in a foriegn country. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, is in French. And often you get to a pick up or delivery and no one there speaks any functional english at all. Which then you get to do a primitive version of sign language and piecing together my extremely limited french vocabulary with their similarly limited english. It has always worked, eventually. I did enjoy a rare occasion when I had to go into the main office of a business instead of the docks. A pretty woman behind the receptionists desk looked up at me and said liltingly, "Bon Jour!" Ahh, the French. I am remembering two vastly different movies. In "My Fair Lady" Professor Higgins is berating all countries for not teaching their children their own languages. About the French he states "the french don't care what you say, just as long as you pronounce it properly". In the second Matrix movie, the french bad guy soliliquies on the beauty of cursing in french. Quebec is doggedly determined to remain French; back in the sixties or seventies there was a secessionist movement, some bombings occurred and some people actually were jailed. One person told us that in Quebec the schools are highly restrictive about teaching english.
Another thing we have noticed is that Canadians don't shut their blinds at night. We were driving through rural Canada one night and I noted it to Donna. At first, she thought I was crazy. Then we both got to looking, and it was true. Large windows, with no blinds pulled and we could see whatever they were doing in the house. Shortly after noticing this, we watched "Bowling for Columbine" in which Micheal Moore is noting that while Canadians have guns like us, they don't shoot each other nearly as often as we do. (He opined that he thought that it was that our media, with its "if it bleeds, it leads" mentality has generated a fear culture among Americans. Which I thought was unusual; a liberal blaming the media for something.) Anyway, it came out also that Canandians don't lock their doors. And he went door to door just opening doors to people's houses without knocking and then interviewing them. So I wonder if the blinds thing is related to the unlocked doors. No secrets, no fear.
Anyway, thats my take on Canada. We will be posting pix on Facebook of our Canadian adventures soon.
This past week, we started in Atlanta, delivered a load of Guitar Hero III to Brownsville, TX, moved up to Houston and caught a load going to eastern Indiana, jumped to western Ohio to pick up a load going to Vermont, from there a load of videos in Montreal going back to Ohio, and here we are just south of Cincinnati in Kentucky, ready for the next week to start.
"The road goes on forever, and the party never ends....."
Robert Earl Keen
Monday, January 12, 2009
2008 in Review
First of all, I promise myself I will update this regularly. OK, now about '08. We started out blazing, the first half of the year seemed like we were doing great. And in gross dollars, we were. I didn't have a full grasp on what the fuel prices were doing to our profit margin. I didn't pay enough attention to it because at FECC we get a fuel surcharge so I erroneously assumed our margins were the same. Came to find out our fuel expenditures to gross revenue ratio had gone from averaging 25% in '07, to 35% in the first half of '08, meaning we were clearing 10% less profit than I was expecting. And we were grossing enough that it wasn't immediately noticible. Now we know. Of course, now diesel prices are about at the lowest point since we started doing this, but I expect that will change when the economy recovers, freight picks back up and demand will rise, thus raising prices.
'08 brought some memorable deliveries. We picked up a truckload of bales of alpaca hair (!) in northern New Mexico and delivered to San Angelo Texas. We hauled our first radioactive device, and a guy came out in full hazmat gear and a geiger counter to inspect it upon delivery. We went into Louisiana following hurricane Gustav delivering chain saws and into Houston, Texas delivering cell phones after hurricane Ike. Also delivered into Orange, Texas after Ike which was the worst damage that we actually saw with our own eyes. We delivered spacecraft parts to Vandenburg AFB in California and ground penetrating radar to the Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersey that was on its way to Iraq. While unloading, I got into a conversation with a guy and he said they were working on some experimental non-lethal weaponry and would I like to have a look? Well YEAH! They were developing "sonic cannons" that could be used in crowd dispersal situations. We delivered sound stage equipment to Panama City Beach for a 3 Doors Down show during spring break. We delivered cabinets for a high rise condo in Manhatten that was just a couple of blocks from Ground Zero, which we passed on the way in and out. We made our longest, most profitable trip of our trucking career, delivering items from Toronto for a jewelry store in downtown San Francisco (3000 mile drive!). On the negative side we delivered to the SeaRay Boat plant the day before they were shutting down production temporarily due to the economy and the Sterling Trucks plant that was closing permanently within a few months.
The weather was memorable on a couple of occaisons. After spending much time in the mid-west, we spotted our first tornado leaving a minor league baseball game in.....Hagerstown, Maryland! We spent the night in -11 degree F in Montreal, and drove in blizzard conditions in Ottawa Canada on the same trip. In addition to the aftermaths of Gustav and Ike we saw a lot of the midwestern U.S. flooding that occurred in '08.
The fun stuff of the job was good in '08. We spent the day on the beach in Malibu, California, and got to visit with my step-daughter Terri in L.A. We went to minor league baseball games in the aforementioned Hagerstown MD, Syracuse NY, Scranton-WilkesBarre PA, Altoona PA, Akron, OH, Toledo OH, Cane County IL, (suburb of Chicago), and Sacramento CA. We attended our first major league game in Denver at Coors Field on Memorial Day weekend, which was great. In past years we have also hit Durham NC, Salt Lake City UT, Albuquerque NM, Tulsa OK, Columbus OH, and have visited the Field of Dreams movie site in Dyersville, IA. We also got to tour Lambeau Field in Green Bay (a personal dream come true!). We continued our "Eatin' our way 'cross the USA" Tour, hitting the usual favs such as Ragin Cajun in Houston, Crawfishtown USA in Breaux Bridge LA, and made a new fav in LuLu's in Gulf Shores AL. We continue to try to get to JazzFest in New Orleans every year but it never seems to work out. Maybe this year.
So we enter '09 following the worst month in terms of gross dollars we have ever had (December). It took us several days just to get out of Atlanta, but our first load picked up about 5 miles from our house and went to Brownsville, TX. We hopped over to South Padre Island, something we had been meaning to do everytime we get down that way but never had, and had a good afternoon playing on the beach and then found our first new restaurant of '09, The Coconut Shack, on the Intercoastal Waterway side of the island. We relocated to Houston after a pickup in the area cancelled and had dinner last night at Ragin Cajun, having our first boiled crawfish of the season. AHHHH! So here we sit. A load opportunity just came over our Qualcomm going to Kissimmee FL but another truck with more dwell time got it. As I said earlier, I will update regularly this year, I promise!
'08 brought some memorable deliveries. We picked up a truckload of bales of alpaca hair (!) in northern New Mexico and delivered to San Angelo Texas. We hauled our first radioactive device, and a guy came out in full hazmat gear and a geiger counter to inspect it upon delivery. We went into Louisiana following hurricane Gustav delivering chain saws and into Houston, Texas delivering cell phones after hurricane Ike. Also delivered into Orange, Texas after Ike which was the worst damage that we actually saw with our own eyes. We delivered spacecraft parts to Vandenburg AFB in California and ground penetrating radar to the Picatinny Arsenal in New Jersey that was on its way to Iraq. While unloading, I got into a conversation with a guy and he said they were working on some experimental non-lethal weaponry and would I like to have a look? Well YEAH! They were developing "sonic cannons" that could be used in crowd dispersal situations. We delivered sound stage equipment to Panama City Beach for a 3 Doors Down show during spring break. We delivered cabinets for a high rise condo in Manhatten that was just a couple of blocks from Ground Zero, which we passed on the way in and out. We made our longest, most profitable trip of our trucking career, delivering items from Toronto for a jewelry store in downtown San Francisco (3000 mile drive!). On the negative side we delivered to the SeaRay Boat plant the day before they were shutting down production temporarily due to the economy and the Sterling Trucks plant that was closing permanently within a few months.
The weather was memorable on a couple of occaisons. After spending much time in the mid-west, we spotted our first tornado leaving a minor league baseball game in.....Hagerstown, Maryland! We spent the night in -11 degree F in Montreal, and drove in blizzard conditions in Ottawa Canada on the same trip. In addition to the aftermaths of Gustav and Ike we saw a lot of the midwestern U.S. flooding that occurred in '08.
The fun stuff of the job was good in '08. We spent the day on the beach in Malibu, California, and got to visit with my step-daughter Terri in L.A. We went to minor league baseball games in the aforementioned Hagerstown MD, Syracuse NY, Scranton-WilkesBarre PA, Altoona PA, Akron, OH, Toledo OH, Cane County IL, (suburb of Chicago), and Sacramento CA. We attended our first major league game in Denver at Coors Field on Memorial Day weekend, which was great. In past years we have also hit Durham NC, Salt Lake City UT, Albuquerque NM, Tulsa OK, Columbus OH, and have visited the Field of Dreams movie site in Dyersville, IA. We also got to tour Lambeau Field in Green Bay (a personal dream come true!). We continued our "Eatin' our way 'cross the USA" Tour, hitting the usual favs such as Ragin Cajun in Houston, Crawfishtown USA in Breaux Bridge LA, and made a new fav in LuLu's in Gulf Shores AL. We continue to try to get to JazzFest in New Orleans every year but it never seems to work out. Maybe this year.
So we enter '09 following the worst month in terms of gross dollars we have ever had (December). It took us several days just to get out of Atlanta, but our first load picked up about 5 miles from our house and went to Brownsville, TX. We hopped over to South Padre Island, something we had been meaning to do everytime we get down that way but never had, and had a good afternoon playing on the beach and then found our first new restaurant of '09, The Coconut Shack, on the Intercoastal Waterway side of the island. We relocated to Houston after a pickup in the area cancelled and had dinner last night at Ragin Cajun, having our first boiled crawfish of the season. AHHHH! So here we sit. A load opportunity just came over our Qualcomm going to Kissimmee FL but another truck with more dwell time got it. As I said earlier, I will update regularly this year, I promise!
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