Oprah tells me I should be more in touch with the forces of the universe, mother nature and the planets. I should be more in touch with my inner child, my feminine side and my external surrounding energy. Well, I think I am. And all those "folks", think I need to come in off the road and find a good local job. After about 8 years of flatbed driving I'm not only burnt out, I don't want to spent another winter on the road. My health is failing and resuming a "more normal" life will probably save my life. I'm 53 years old. My father died at 55. My younger brother just had bypass surgery.But now, here's the rub - going "local" has NEVER worked for me. It's going to take several posts to talk about all my "local job" experiences. But for now let's focus on a situation that happened to me about four years ago, before I joined the company I drive for now.
The City Garbage Truck Job
I live near Largo, FL, which made the news last year because its city manager decided to switch sexes and become a women. After his announcement, he showed up for work in hose and heels. He, now she, actually didn't look that bad. But the seniors and the church going citizens of quite conservative Largo voted her out of a job. But while he was there he insisted that the public works department receive the best equipment - and that included garbage trucks.
I went to City Hall and found out they needed garbage truck drivers. Being a semi driver would be a definite plus. It was a union job, started at $10.25 an hour with regular raises, offered great health insurance, other good benefits and a killer 40lK type plan. They wanted me to work Wednesday through Sunday from 7am until about 4pm. I would get an older clean unit until the newer ones arrived in about three months.
I passed the physical and the road test. I was offered the job after two interviews. I did it! I would be at home, working locally and this would be my last job. No more tarping, no more chains, no more foolish shippers, forget directions, forget the DOT, no more weigh stations, no more holidays on the road, no more weekends sitting at the FJ, and no more being stuck in the truck for 3, 4 or 6 weeks at a stretch. I was very excited.
My first day on the job as a rookie. The other men there, some of them had been with the city since the Spanish landed in Florida, ignored me. I was introduced to the safety guy who also was the trainer. We spend my first day together lifting and dropping empty green and brown garbage containers. We got in his car and drove to a local Wendy's for lunch. Then it was back to lifting and dropping. I couldn't wait for 4pm.
The next day was exciting. We spent the day lifting and dropping garbage containers with real garbage. That would be smelly, drippy, disgusting, icky garbage. As you lift the container up and then angle it toward the bucket in the back really disgusting (I'm going to use this word a lot) liquidy "stuff" drips all over the top of your cab and on the windshield. Yes, there is air conditioned, but you really need the drivers side window open to make sure everything is working properly. Some of the junk drips on your work clothes and hair. Everything is controlled with a small job stick that takes some getting used to. I couldn't wait for 4pm.
Day #3. Back with the trainer again. Today we get to go on the road to do a real route. Strip malls, movie theatres, small businesses like Subway, larger restaurants like Chili's and TGI Friday's, RV parks, the post office, etc. I never realize how much garbage there is in the world. Did you ever smell really old popcorn butter sitting in a trash can in the sun? How about the uneaten food, beer and liquor from the local Chinese buffet?
I keep lifting and dumping in the back. Part of the deal here is that you have to remember to compact the trash every once in a while so you can lift and dump more in. Grab, lift, dump, compact - grab, lift, dump, compact - GLDC, GLDC. Hum. Meanwhile (concurrently) you must make sure you watch out for traffic and don't catch any wires about you with the hydraulic teeth that grab, lift, dump and compact.
The highlight of the day was driving across town to the county dump. Wait in line, get an inbound weight, follow the traffic lights to the appropriate dump area. Some days you would be directed to the incenerator, other days to the landfill. Today, we were pointed to the land fill. Have you ever been to a land fill? A land fill in Florida? The stench is unbearable. My trainer said I'd get used to it.
I got to the top of the "hill", backed up and sat there. "Now what", I asked the trainer. "Get out and pull the pins and come back inside." "The pins?" I asked. "Yeah, remove the two large bolts (pins) from either side of the bucket, come back in and we'll lift and dump everything using the joy stick and other controls. "Ok", I said.
I got out. I was stepping on thousands of tons of garbage beneath me. All kinds of birds were flying around my head. The "land" around my feet was squshy. The smell was horrible. I dropped my gloves when I exited the truck. As I walked toward the rear of the truck I began to sink deeper and deeper into the muck. As I looked for the pins I was up my knees in garbage.
Finding and pulling the pins was not easy. Trying to get some footing to pull the pins out while your entire body is sinking can be quite an accomplishment. I hear from the cab "you forgot the hammer!". Motherf..ker, he never mentioned I needed a hammer. I made my way back to the cab, opened the door - the trainer was inside in the air conditioning listening to the radio, drinking his cold Wendy's soda about to make a call on his cell phone. I located the hammer.
Back through the quicksand I went back to the pins. The hammer did the trick. Back to the cab. The trainer points to the right buttons. The bucket lifts and all the garbage is pushed out. We're empty now ready to go and get more garbage. I get out, remembering the hammer this time, and trudge my way back to reinsert the pins.
Back inside the cab every part of my body is sweaty. And now I smell like the garbage. The trainer says to drive to the "clean" area. I can't imagine what that is, but away we go. At least I don't have to shift - its an automatic transmission.
About 10 minutes I park in the clean area. The trainer says ok, time to clean out the bucket. He must be kidding. "How do I do that", I ask. "Climb inside" he says. "How do I do that", I ask again. "There is a little door on your side." "Do I need the hammer?" I ask. "No."
I get out of the cab. I see the little sliding door which is just above my head. There is no ladder or anything to assist me getting up there. Apparantly the trainer is watching me in his mirror. He slids down the window, letting some his precious cold air out, and tells me to lift myself up on the tire. "Ok", I said. I was thinking something else.
Up my leg goes and I grab hold of the door handle and struggle to lift myself up. The door does not open. "Use your foot", says the trainer. Following his instruction, I get the door to slide open. A blast of hot putrid air comes blasting out into my face. "Jump inside", I hear.
So, here I am. It is 105 degrees outside. It is probably 135 degrees inside the bin. I'm now standing inside a smelly garbage truck on a county landfill in Florida. And I felt like the biggest asshole on the planet.
"You forgot the hose!", I hear interrupting my thinking. I said to my wife this my last job, I'm gonna really do well and like it. I'll be home now and take care of things. No more OTR trucking for me boy. Moron. Motherf..kr.
I struggle again to climb out and down, get the hose and reverse the whole process.
Well, I've bored you enough. This lasted about two weeks. Obviously I could write a little book about the entire experience. It went from bad to worse. The trainer told me to buy a little broom handle, take it home every night, and practice with it pretended that it was the joy stick that lifts the trash. I wanted to do something else with the wooden stick to the trainer. Motherf..kr.
Every day until I was fired, I became more and more frustrated, angry, tired and sore. After a week on the job, I got a terrible painful (when isn 't it?) case of kidney stones. I had to remain home 2 days to let them pass. The universe, mother nature and the planets were telling me something alright.
It turns out the supervisors there also lied to me about the hours. Someone else with seniority got the better routes and better schedule. I also learned I had to work on holidays - even Christman and Thanksgiving. "The garbage still has to be picked up", they said.
The worst part was thinking I had miserably failed. I wanted so much to have a good local job and live at home. I had promised my wife this was going to work. I wanted to her to be proud of me. I wanted her to have less pressure on her with me finally home. But, I had failed her. My son loved having me at home. I also failed him. God, I was miserable. And there is no happy ending to this story. I had to go back on the road. And here it is and I'm sitting at the FJ in Memphis, TN, again miserable, because all I want is a good local job.
The photo credit is: http://rds.yahoo.com/_ylt=A0S020pLzWdIaWMB2DijzbkF/SIG=12kb051tm/EXP=1214848715/**http%3A//www.usaquip.com/trucks/Volvo-Garbage-Truck--668961769.htm
