I had gone in to apply to for a “local” or intra-Fl flatbed job – home every night – or at least every weekend. The guy seemed uninterested. His office was dismal. It was dirty and a mess. Everything on the walls was dusty and old. The paint a faded disgusting green color. His desk was a piece of metal junk. Cigarette butts overflowed from the ashtray onto the floor.He pointed upstairs. “What’s that?” I asked. “Tanker”, he replied. Tanker? Oh well, what the hell. So I went upstairs and met with one of the too-friendly phony ex-stripper type female recruiters. Of course she promised the world, and being desperate for a great local job, I bought it hook line and sinker. I didn’t want to drive all night or start really early in the morning. I would work weekends if I had to. I won’t give you the whole request list, because I was stupid to think she would not agree to any of it to get another driver on board. I signed and make a pact with the devil called Commercial Carriers, better known as CCC.
After the usual pre-employment nonsense, I was told to report for orientation. I had to drive about 50 miles from my house to Mulberry, FL. At least I didn’t have to go Greyhound. In this part of Florida they mine phosphates for fertilizer industry. There’s not much else going on. And this is where I had to sit for about 2 ½ days. I watched boring videos about HAZMAT and how not to operate CCC equipment. We all took the HAZMAT test together and amazingly we all passed.
Next - after 2 of my classmates left – they failed the drug screen – it was time to get our “personal protection” gear. Tall rubber boots, hard hat with ear industrial ear muffs and a large face screen, thick long thick rubber gloves, a pair of regular work gloves and a bunch of other crap that seemed unnecessary and excessive. When I put it all on, I looked like I was going fly fishing in a toxic waste dump. Standing in an air conditioned room, with everything on, I was profusely sweating. And I was going to have to wear this outside in the Florida heat.
Before we were released from training, it was time to get our assignments Remember I said, I told my friendly recruiter no nights or early morning and I would drive on the weekends only if really necessary. I was told to report to the Tampa terminal to meet with my trainer at 3am Monday morning. I would be working 6 days a week from Monday to Saturday and have Sunday off. I might be get another day off during the week later, maybe.
How does one start work at 3am? When do I go to sleep? When do I eat? When do I have a life? I think I tried to go to bed at 7pm completely inconveniencing my wife who pretty much leads a “normal” life. She get to watch the late night news and a little bit of Jay Leno.
I darkened the room. I closed the door. This was absurd. I should have just forgotten the whole thing right there and then. But then I’m a dope. And I was desperate and had bills to pay. So there I lay, tossed and turned like a frankfurter roasting at a Pilot. I stared at the ceiling for hours. I listening to my wife have a life – she had the TV on, she put out the dogs, she made the coffee for the next day and she didn’t have to get her job until 8am. I was miserable.
2am. No need for the alarm to go off, I’m wide awake. It’s pitch black outside. It’s also hot and humid. Christmas is not far away and it’s in the 80’s. I jump in the shower. I put on my work clothes. Not even my three dogs wake up to say goodbye and wish me luck. Their not stupid. I jump in the car. I’m off to meet with the trainer. I have about 40 minutes to get there.
There is nobody else on the road. I got there in 20 minutes. I park and got out of the trunk all my personal protection equipment. I walk upstairs to the dreary dispatch office. The graveyard shift dispatcher is there. Another driver was there turning in his paperwork before heading home. He looked like a zombie. The dispatcher was smoking and drinking Pepsi. I said good morning. He grunted. I said I’m here to meet with so and so. He didn’t know anything about it. I said I’d wait.
The only place to sit was an old picnic table. That’s where all the drivers did their paperwork. You had to watch out for the splinters. On the other side of the room was the recruiting office where this “adventure” began. The clock said 2:50am. Tick, tick, tick – I could hear the second hand move around the dial. The only access to coffee was behind the dispatcher. I didn’t want to bother him. Besides coffee would only make me more nervous than I already was. I hadn’t slept since the day (or night?) before. All I could think about was being somewhere else. Any minute I would have to meet with someone I don’t know and possibly spend the next two week with them driving a tanker in the middle of the night when everyone else was asleep.
3am. 3:15am 3:45am. 4:05am. 4:30am. I waited and waited. And then this little female in her 40’s or 50’s walks in. She ignores me. She goes to the dispatch window to bullshit with the guy. She was wearing a clean white shirt with a “trainer” patch on it. This must be her I said to myself. She flaunted the “trainers” shirt like a queen wears a crown. I was allowed to blue only. I say something. Yup, she was the one. She was friendly. I hated to say it, but I told her I’d been here since 2:50am. Oh yeah she said, I’m sorry, hell of a night, I overslept. Won’t happen again.
The day ended about 3pm. I couldn’t wake to get home. Driving a tanker turned out to be easy. Visibility is excellent. The surge effect is manageable. Stopping at every set of railroad tracks takes some getting used to. It seemed to me that stopping was more of a safety hazard then just driving off them. Back in orientation, we were told that there were many accidents, especially at night and early in morning – when I was driving. Seems that 4-wheelers driving at that time did not pay attention to the tankers stopping at the rail crossing, and they crashed into the rear. Despite CCC putting a bright orange beacon on the top rear of the tanker, cars were still slamming into the trailers.
I tried going to sleep without much success. I got up again without an alarm. I felt like I had a severe case of jet lag. I got to the terminal at 2:45am. And I waited and waited and waited. 4am. She shows up and apologizes. Won’t happen again. She decides that we need to spend some “office” time going over all the paperwork – logs, time cards, etc. As a “local” driver you are in a intrastate loop hole of DOT regs. You keep a log book, but you really don’t need one. You need to punch a time card. A pre and post trip form has to be filled out. There was more. I never understood any of it. Maybe if I got some sleep it would have made some sense to me in time.
After that, we went out to the yard to find a “good” trailer. That would be one that wasn’t falling apart and had all its “parts” intake including a land gear crank. We selected the best one available. I did the pre trip. She walked behind me. I thought we were ready to go. She did not. We spent hours waiting for the maintenance folks to repair something that she thought needed to get repaired. We just could have gotten another trailer.
Day #3. I have the sneaking suspicion that this is just not going to work for me. I thought I could make it work, but I was wrong, again. Desperation makes you do stupid things. Taking this job was one of them. I hated the fact that I need to drive around with a trainer – especially an anal retentive one. The day before she yelled at me for braking when a dog ran out in front of the truck. “Never do that again!.” She screamed.
Today we are going to pull a different type of “tanker”. No hot molten sulfur. We were going to pick up and deliver some kind of smelly dusty fertilizer. We waited at the shipper for two hours in a long line of trucks waiting to load. Tick, tick, tick. I could hear the second hand of the large clock she had in the truck. Finally we got to move. I pulled inside. They used the duck, rope and buzzer system of loading. I couldn’t believe any of this.
She tells me to open my window. I comply. All of sudden from somewhere appears a little yellow duck with a red beak attached to a rope. I look at it and the duck looks at me. What the hell am I supposed to do now? She says to take this plastic card and stick it in the ducks bill and tug. I comply. A minute later a loud buzzer buzzes and the truck shakes. We are getting loaded. The buzzer buzzes. So what do I do now? She says move forward until the buzzer buzzes. I comply. The truck shakes again and the rear of the trailer gets loaded with more smelly VERY dusty fertilizer.
Buzzzz. Move forward. Buzzz. Stop. Open the window again. I closed it to prevent choking from the dust. Down comes the duck with that card and a bill of lading in its bill. I remove it. Up goes the duck. Buzzz. Time to leave. Thank goodness. Today comes to an end at 7pm.
I get home. I am full of fertilizer dust. I still smell like rotten eggs from dealing with hot molten sulfur the day before. Mrs. Grumpy says to strip in the garage next to the washer dryer. She hands me a old towel and orders me into the shower. I’ve spend the last three days being ordered around by a little anal retentive female at the mercy of a buzzing duck. And I’ve had no sleep.
Day #4. Christmas. 2am. No need for the alarm. Screw getting them on time. I stopped at 7-11 and had breakfast. I got to the terminal at 4am. And guess what? She’s there waiting for me. Ha! I told her it won’t happen again. Florida is a right to work state. Not many unions around. Ok, so the UPS guy driving next to me is a Teamster and makes about $20 a hour. I’m here at 4am on Christmas with my anal retentive little female trainer looking forward to spending the next 12 hours driving shit around Florida. I never understood the pay system, but trust me, it was terrible – slave wages. The more round trips you made you more you got paid. Anyway, this day ended at 5pm and I would be off tomorrow.
I never went back. Despite all the incredible hardships I was once again putting my wife through, I could not do this job. I should have NEVER even taken the job. The turnover at CCC was 200%. The working conditions terrible. The equipment horrible. I never want to on Christmas again. I never want to have to wake up at 2am to go to work. I asked the trainer if could I get a better schedule after training. She said this 3am start time would be my schedule. I could keep on asking, but then they might be able to switch me a midnight or 4am or 9pm schedule. Only the most senior drivers that have been stupid enough to put up with this shit for a while get the better “daytime” schedules. I won't be one of them.
The photo is V. Grumpy. It is a hugh "pile" of manure covered by a white tarp held down by sliced old tires. Just the kind of thing you see (and smell) as a CCC driver.
