Life on the Road – Trucking News Blog

So I’m here in Laredo. At “our” terminal. It is hot and uncomfortable. Actually it’s just like being in an oven. It is busier than ever. Freight headed everywhere. Going inside the office, I encountered a bunch of “men-children.” Whiny, lazy, young and old, fat and extremely fat, unmotivated, very unprofessional truck drivers. I just wanted to leave. I’m so disappointed with these people. I’m sad for the company. Unfortunately, my load and paperwork were not ready to be taken over to the broker. I’m stuck here overnight. It’s dark and 102 degrees. Bummer.

What do you think of this? I’m in the rest room. One of the “men-children” comes in. He tries to open my stall and the one next to me. He almost takes the doors off. He yells “full house!” I thought he left. When I’m done I open the door and he almost runs me over, tells me to “get out already” and he slams the door. This goober is one of our million-milers! The decal on both sides of his truck says: “Ambassador.” Well, this “Ambassador” from hell must weigh over 400 lbs., clearly has trouble walking and you can smell him 10 feet away. The company just gave him a brand new International ProStar with a host of free options. He barely can get up and in the cab. This clown is an disgrace and I’m sure my company has no clue of this man-child’s piss poor attitude. You know the expression, what comes around goes around, well, I will not forget this little “incident.”

Then there was the driver who refused to take a load over to the broker less than fifteen minutes away because he claimed his 14 hours were up. The other driver who refused a load to North Dakota because he doesn’t want to go West because he wants to make sure he gets home two weeks from today. Another driver couldn’t figure out how to secure the load he was assigned. One driver was too tired to work anymore today. One guy doesn’t want to leave until tomorrow. I have never seen such stupidity. The operations staff here is the best in the business. They seem to let all this roll off their shoulders and just move on to the next available driver. A pathetic situation, clearly.

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There are a few times when I can’t get an internet connection and last night was one of them. I had to work on Windows Live Writer off-line, which is what I use to post to WordPress. Between Denver and Albuquerque, Verizon’s cell and data service is terrible. I don’t care how many red dots they show on a map, there wasn’t any service, but there should be. I can wait until cell towers becomes obsolete and service is offered via Earth orbiting satellites, like XM/Sirius radio.

I was initially dispatched to Tucson AZ, but then was turned around to pick-up slinkies (coiled wire) today in Pueblo CO. The load is going to OH. I spent the night at a independent truck stop in the middle of nowhere – Springer NM – right off I-25. Nice place. Friendly staff. Big sign, however, at the Subway inside, saying their oven isn’t working. Sorry, I need my flatbread and sprinkle cheese toasted. So I walked into Russell’s Restaurant. And after forty days of watching every damn thing I put in my mouth, starving myself if there was nothing healthy available, I fell off the diet wagon. Not actually a fall, more like a high altitude swan dive into a deep Brazilian rain forest canyon.

I did try my best. I looked over the menu carefully. The Native American waitress sat down next to me to assist. Sorry gals, I’m a guy and when a waitress, especially a good looking one does that – sits down next to me – I have some trouble thinking. I made the mistake of asking her “What’s good?” She smelled like a desert flower after a September rain shower. OMG – did I just write that? “Green chili chicken or steak enchiladas.” I asked her name. “Nicole.” Well, Nicole (love that name) would you consider that healthy? What a moron I am. What kind of stupid question is that to ask. “Sure it is, it comes with lettuce and beans – that’s healthy, right?” I had been in the truck, on the job, in the heat, since 6 freak’n AM, off my “regular” time zone. I just kept looking in her eyes. And she stared back. I lost track of what happened next and what I ordered.

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OK, so here I am back on Mountain Time. Laptop time is 10:06pm. Log time is 9:06pm. Wife time is the same as laptop time. Today I drove the 641 miles from Carrollton TX to Albuquerque NM. Great trip. Wish I had a dedicated run between these two places. I would actually be OK with moving to Albuquerque, which I think is a pretty cool place. I’m parked right outside the consignee in an “upscale” industrial park. I have my window open and I’m not sweating. A nice change of pace from yesterday when I was tarping the load I’m under and it was 107 degrees. I finished at 9pm last night, drank an entire bottle of Gatorade and feel asleep. When I don’t post, there is always a damn good reason, like heat exhaustion.

I said before, there should be a law making tarping in 100 degree heat illegal. My delivery is for 0600 tomorrow. I met a Mercer driver the other day at the Red River Army Depot. We were talking about a bunch of stuff. I told him about how stupid late night early morning pick-ups and deliveries are. He agree. He told me to QUALCOM in my eta and tell them I’m not a dairy farmer and to make the appointment for 0800. Well, my company takes their JIT loads seriously and wants them delivered as promised. I sent in the message with the dairy farmer quote. I got a message back a little while later confirming the 0800 appointment. Thank you to that Mercer driver. To be honest with you, this driver could have talked me into buying my own truck and driving for Mercer. Thank goodness, when I left the Army Depot, I came to my senses.

Back to Carrollton TX. I really don’t like Dallas. Forget about every else there, the traffic for a truck driver is enough to make you mad as hell. The surrounding areas are no better. I’ve always felt the HUV lanes should be for trucks who are just “pass’n” through. I know I’m an old fart when I say this but, I first went to Dallas in the late ’70′s, when men were men and women were women. Dallas was magical back then. It is not now or will ever be again. On the outskirts, places like Carrollton are not better. So, why does the railroad decide to run a train though 5pm rush hour traffic under I35 NE for almost 45 minutes -backing up traffic for miles either EVERY direction?

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Huddle House. Franklin VA. I haven’t eaten all day. So much for a health regiment. I arrived at my receiver this morning and, what else, waited until the rocket scientists there could figure out how to get it off my trailer. There was no pre-trip sent. At about 2:30 pm, I sent a message. Since I have nothing in my truck and there is absolutely nothing around as far as services (no Subway or anything) where I am, I said I’m moving to the nearest truck stop. Well, the closest one I could find was one off US58 in Franklin about 45 minutes west. It’s a BP station that is not being boycotted with a Huddle House on the property. Across the street is a Wal-Mart that I refuse to shop in. I don’t care if there are trucks parked over there. Here, there is space for about five trucks. Hourly  is allowed. Yeah right, I’m here for the night.

I go in the Huddle House. My “old self” used to love this place – big juicy cheeseburgers, salty sweet potato fries and sugary key lime pie. Top it all off with a large strawberry shake with whipped cream and a cherry on top. But I don’t eat that anymore. I looked at the shiny plastic menu. The only thing I could order would be a small side salad or a club sandwich. The three folks, a older gentlemen and two teenagers were on duty. The ‘”short yellow bus” must have dropped them off just before their shift started after lunch. I could instantly tell there was not much brain power going on here. One of them was “doing” the garbage wearing plastic gloves, but didn’t change them when going to back to handling the food. The “chef” at least seemed to have clean hands. I used the rest room to wash my hands and there was a notice asking if anyone had any information about who “trashed” the men’s room two weeks ago, they should contact the “unit” manager. No reward, yet.

So I order the club sandwich. The “waiter” asks me “Crispy or grilled?” Crispy or grilled? A club sandwich? A new “country” thing perhaps? Who knows. I say I want a club sandwich. The kid says, “Yes, sir”, and points to the chicken club sandwich photo on the menu. Thank goodness the Huddle House menu uses photos or their employees would never know what you wanted. I say that’s a chicken sandwich. “Isn’t what you want?” No, I want a club sandwich. It is on the menu on page three. The problem is, there is no photo of it. “Oh”, he says and amazingly writes something down on his pad and takes it up to the old chef guy. He studies it. The other person working there as part of this trio – a girl with a hanging belly – she’s not pregnant – comes over to assist in the effort. Confusion and anxiety ensue.

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Well drivers, the IRS has ruled. Despite what the “experts” at HR Block say and the letter from my employer and a ton of logs and other paperwork to prove it, the IRS says “we” did not prove that I was OTR for 285 days in 2006. What I was doing, if not driving a truck, is irrelevant. The fact that I was, in fact, driving a truck OTR, is irrelevant. The per diem deduction is “dis-allowed” and we owe the IRS about $3000, not including future interest and penalties.

The steel toe work boots that are a “standard” job related deduction was also not allowed. Not even “work” pants or shirts. It seems that they don’t have my carriers logo or name on it, so the IRS feels that I could use them to walk around the mall on the weekend or go to dinner in them. The deduction has been “dis-allowed.” The laptop that I use in the truck, according to the IRS, should have been depreciated over time, not all at once, so that deduction has also been “dis-allowed.”

HR Block, who I strongly recommend that drivers NOT use, was very supportive at the beginning, vowing to fight this with us to the end, pacifying us that we would prevail, dropped the ball and totally screwed the pooch, so to speak. Their ineptness caused us to lose valuable time while the IRS ruled against us. The last message my wife received from HR Block was that: “it might be better if we pursued the IRS on our own.” Isn’t that just special.

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So friends, how is your day going? Me, well, another day another surgery. I’m back home again after my second “procedure” snug as a bug in a rug so to speak. I received a call from my employer that they have to “take” my truck. I can’t say that wasn’t expected. They said, they “gave me” as much time as they could. It’s kind of like getting your car “repo’d.” The call came less than a day before I went into the hospital and yes, as I was laying down on the operating table with both of my hands taped down and all kinds of things stuck in me while Calypso music was playing loudly from the ceiling speakers, I did think about the truck and my job. It didn’t last long as I opened my eyes and I was in recovery, a better man, so they tell me. All the blockages to and from my heart have now been cleared and the passages, veins, arteries and whatever that was impeding my being even more amazing than I am have been reinforced with “stents” that will remain in me forever. With some rest and relaxation, I should be good to go in about two weeks. Where I’m going is clearly another matter entirely.

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“You don’t smoke and you have all your teeth and hair.” The doctor was being funny. Being more serious, he said that he found 80% blockage in one the arteries to my heart. It’s a bit hard to type this post because my arms and wrists are all taped up. I’ve been stuck many times the past two weeks since coming in off the road, but today I truly feel like a pin cushion. My left wrist hurts the most as this is where the chemical dye was injected. They’ll be no shifting for this driver today.

0830 yesterday morning. Another beautiful Florida day. This is the hospital where my son was born. It’s all changed from a small city medical facility into a mega health center that’s spread out all over the County. Before I walked through the sliding glass doors I say to myself – I’m gonna walk out of there here today, tomorrow or whenever, but I’m gonna walk out of here. Behind me only a few miles away are the shimmering waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Once inside in the cool air conditioning of the main lobby, I am quite stoic and very determined to get “me” fixed. The computers go down when I’m “registering” at the admittance office. All the paperwork has to be done the ‘ole fashioned way – with a pen.

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Once again, I must admit, I am somewhat at a disadvantage because of the lack of facts and figures on the lives of OTR truck drivers. There is no available data on how many truckers have sons and daughters who have or are presently serving in the military. We have some idea of the drivers that are Vietnam Vets or have served in the military because they are quite boisterous about it. Many others choose, as is their right, to keep their service private and don’t advertise it either on their trucks or at the truck stop buffet counter.

I have mentioned in previous posts that my son was interested in joining the military. I just have to make the intelligent assumption that other drivers are in this same position, especially since the economy has tightened the available opportunities that young people have. I always write posts under the proviso that Wayne prefers me not to get too personal about my life and family. At this point, if you have read anything that I’ve written for Life On The Road, I crossed that line long ago. Many of you know more about me and how I feel about the life of a trucker than my mother does.

So I’ll honestly tell you that I have wanted military service for my son for a long time. The jobs out there will not give him the training, security or camaraderie that military service will. I wanted something similar for myself, but for a variety of reasons, I chose another road. And until recently, my son, also preferred to run a different road, in a complete opposite direction from any of the armed services. For reasons that he has not made apparent to me, he changed his mind, quite unexpectedly, about a year ago. And until recently, I, as a father, have lost plenty of sleep over his change of course. Being on the road, it has been difficult to talk to my son about what’s on his mind. It also has been very difficult to express my own worries about his future plans and his parents concern for his safety.

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That is from the June issue of “O” – the Oprah Magazine. Yeah, so what if ‘m reading Oprah. It’s not like I’m watching her TV show right? By the way, she interviewed Simon Cowell from American Idol and it was..what? I like Simon Cowell – I wish I was as rich, as thin and as brutally honest as he is. And it’s not like I watch American Idol – I mean Idol. Do you believe that Lee DeWyze beat out Crystal Bowersox? Sorry, you didn’t hear me say that.

It’s been two weeks since I parked the truck and began dealing with my health issues. I still have not completely come to terms with “saying yes to life.” If you work for a carrier that offers SDT – short term disability – you need to have that as part of your benefits package. Six years ago when I got my present job I made sure to check the box for it before I got out of orientation. Going from a weekly paycheck to nothing will make the whole “life” thing harder, despite being ordered to go to the hospital. The SDT will give you about 60% of your weekly pay for 13 weeks if you’re out that long. It takes about three weeks to get the ball rolling before you receive the first check. Every plan is different and so are the costs.

In these two weeks, the puffy bags and dark circles under my eyes have disappeared, the extreme pain in my hands and knees is much less than it was, my breathing is easier and I’ve lost 7 pounds. My BP seems to have stabilized at about 132/82 with a sitting pulse of around 50. It takes six medications to do that. I’ve eaten more salad than a pregnant rabbit and all the crap that I used to consume has been eliminated from my diet. But – there always seems to be a but – sure I’m healthier, but not necessarily happier. The “say yes to life”  concept my friends is not an easy road to travel, especially in this economy. And I must add this caveat, I think it’s especially harder for those who work as OTR truckers to deal with the whole “the wheels aren’t moving – keep the left door closed” work ethic and dealing with being “sick.” Although I don’t consider myself sick – I’m kind of “sidelined” for a while. Taking care of yourself requires a lot of discipline and consistency and patience and commitment – none of which are easy for me.

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Tonight I’m at the FJ in Brunswick GA. Spreading rapidly up from Florida, you will see FJ changing over from their familiar “Country Buffet” to Denny’s. If you still enjoy the tasteless, overcooked, greasy crap that FJ has passed off as food to drivers all these years, eat up before almost every FJ gets converted to a Denny’s. And if you’ve never “dined” at a Denny’s, please give it a whirl and trust me, after trying their menu you will yearn for the old FJ offerings. Denny’s is for the RV’er, Q-Tips with those sardine can trailers with 20-year old one gear bikes duct taped on the rear – not truck drivers. Denny’s is not Waffle House (cash only) or Huddle House, both of which are still trucker favorites. As all of us drivers know, real food, with rare exceptions, will soon no longer exist along the interstates of this country.

Remember high school? What it was like in the cafeteria. This group ate over there at that table, another bunch ate by themselves in the back – you get the idea. Well that’s how it is at the FJ these days. Truckers enter from one side and the “civilians” another. And they “merge” quite uncomfortably in the restaurant. Quite honestly, I really don’t want to eat with these people. It’s bad enough I have to “share” the road with them. They should have never done away with separate dining facilities that segregated “professional” drivers from travelers. Have you taken a close look at these people lately? Most of them are really old, cheap, still dress in things made of polyester and do truly annoying things like just stand there at the buffet stirring the mashed potatoes. Why just tonight one of them was actually reading a FJ brochure! Are these people weird or what?

Some of these civilian couples, married forever, need to hold on to your table, almost spilling your ice tea, to maneuver through to get to their table. Many of them wear matching outfits. Some of the men and women are actually dressing in each others clothes. One old guy looked like he was wearing a pair of his wife’s Capri pants aka pedal pushers. Both of them wore beige support knee highs and those “senior” moon shoes you need to mail order from Haband.  This is all just not right and something I just don’t need to see after driving 500 miles. The younger travelers can be even worse with their preppy Izod shorts, Bally sandals and whiny spoiled brats aka children that are allergic to everything and need sippy cups of non fat milk. You just want to throw a bowl of mac and cheese on their heads.

Mix all this with the 6′ 3″ driver in farmers coveralls who can’t fit in a booth, but since the travelers have all the tables, he chooses to sit side saddle – his unusually large butt in the booth but his two tree stump legs hanging out like he’s waiting for a waitress to give him a lap dance. And fat chance that’s going to happen. The FJ restaurant employees know their time is limited. When the conversion to Denny’s happens it typically comes without notice and they will be terminated. Denny’s wants cute and young and not so stupid. The FJ food staff is as old, slow and unmotivated as the folks that used to dish out the string beans at Morrison’s cafeteria. The last FJ I ate at that was a Denny’s, Sue-zee or Ju-dee was my waitress and she was just sooo excited to serve me pancakes – she called them flap-jacks. It was just like eating back in high school. Look for a Denny’s coming soon to your local FJ.