4 days stuck here. I'm having trouble breathing. No I'm not kidding. I read this memo on the drivers room bulletin board. I misinterpreted what it said. I couldn't catch my breath. I had to sit down. It's the intense high humidity combined with the stress I'm under. Recently, my body decided on its own to react to anxiety by not letting me breathe. Yes, I discussed it with my doctor. She said it was stress. And if you factor in the damn humidity, well, I just can't breathe. For those of you that go to Denver with the high altitude, you know what it feels like. I once spent a night on a mountain somewhere in Colorado and I never want to do it again. I couldn't catch my breath.
I'm back in my cubicle. I just want to stay out of the truck. Speaking of the truck, it is, according to the shop here, repaired. I am extremely leery of their pronouncement, because over the last four years, after they "repaired" it, I had to bring it back, on more than one occasion. One time, after they "repaired" it, I drove to a shipper for a load and the truck died and I had to be towed back. On a more positive note, I do have a pair of new Michelin steers and two seats that work. I can only hope that whatever else had to be done to it, was in fact, done. I don't want to come back.
I was talking about being back in my cubicle. I have all the comforts of "home" here. No wife and no life, but then that's another story. There's a desk, a chair, privacy, my cell phone, my trusty laptop and four vending machines stock full of food and drinks I don't want. Last post I told you about the Lipton Diet Citrus Tea. I threw it away after a few painful sips. Whatever else is in the machines is no better. There is a clean bathroom within a few steps with two showers and a "modern" laundry that is always in use. Around the corner are the keys to the company courtesy car with the dirty smelly ashtrays and the loose beige head liner that puffs up and down as you drive.
Tonight several of the drivers here decided to BBQ either a huge of side beef or a really long rack 'a ribs. I got worried because when they were talking about this feast, some driver's little "frankfurter" dog was aimlessly walking around. They couldn't. No. This isn't China. They were feeding the dog Cheetos, as if they were fattening it up for his upcoming demise. Turns out, thankfully, the dog was put into the....fire?.....NO!...into the truck so he could go do whatever dogs do waiting in trucks for their owners to return. I looked outside the window and the BBQ fire was as high as the Olympic Torch, as the rest of the natives, I mean drivers, prepared the meat, taters and beans.
I opted not to participate in the party. I always march to my own drummer. I grabbed the courtesy car keys, drove over (with the headliner blowing up and down - how chin see) to the Flying J for dinner - alone - and returned to listen in on the festivities. Because, tonight, "there was a "special" guest. And I, your humble top-notch blogger, had the rare opportunity to sit in my little private cubicle and overhear all the exciting, stimulating, astute and worldly pontifications of not only the drivers stuck here (mostly newbies from Schneider and other "top" companies that if there wasn't a 125% turnover here - they wouldn't be allowed in the door) for the weekend, but also the "meanderings" our "special" guest.
Now I know your just biting your lip in anticipation. Who, VGrumpy, is this person? Well, I'll keep you waiting not a moment longer. We have tonight, here in the hot rainy humid waste land of Oklahoma, our very own "whigette" lot lizard - right here in our main terminal! Her close resemblance is in the photo to your left.
A brief bio of our special guest is in order. About 19. Bleached spiked hair. A recent resident of the Jacksonville FL correctional system. Prostitute. Bi-Sexual. Bi-Curious. Homeless. Not pennyless. About 10 lbs. too heavy, with the "excess" in all the wrong places. Chain smoker. A large tattoo (tramp stamp) above her posterior crack "Fags fa life." Hooked on War Craft. Two cell phones, one pink, the other purples, I mean purple, she said "purples." The ring tones were so loud, I literally jumped every time one or both of them would ring. And ring they sure as hell did - for hours.
She "planted" herself in a comfy corner where she could see everyone that came in or out, just like Tony Soprano sitting in a NJ diner eating spaghetti. She said she was being followed. She didn't specify by who (whom?). I never did figure out which driver she was "associated" with. Two or three of our fine young African-American drivers were loitering around her. Perhaps she "belonged" to one of them? Everything she said was loud. She wasn't shouting, but she was, just, loud. She had a iPod or some other kind of high techno thing playing fellow whigette Pinks new song "You make me sick!" How fitting!
Based on her "conversations" this young lady had more "connections" than Donald Trump. In one "typical" cell conversation, it sounded as if she was talking to a former boyfriend and it went something lke this: "Hey dawg, mah bro, u lazy fat fuk, did ya miss me? Waz good? That's retaaard'd shit! Freak'n hilarious. Babe, I didn't mean ta shoot ya! Hey, no this shit aint turn'n me on. I need like $200. No, ya know I ain't gonna fix ya up. Hump the glass what? Yea, it wazzz goood. (laugh) That was one long ass email. Com'on. I need my nails redone, man. Ok, well, we gotta go to da booty (body?) shop. I say it was an fava, but its an obligaaation dawg! I need it today, like right now! Did u just get paid? I be waiting. I miss ya." The Black drivers around her all nodded. I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. The white guys just kept staring at her boobs.
And that was the simila, I mean similar "direction" of every other cell call she took. She never dialed out. Calls just kept coming in and in. And I wasa - I mean was jump'n up at every loud ring. First the pink phone then the purple and so forth and so on. Every ten minutes she would take a "smoke" break that lasted a half an hour. She smoked 'em like this was her last carton. I didn't get it - what did she care? All she had to do is ask any of the other 15 drivers, all smokers, for a cigarette, and they would all try and kill each other fulfilling her request. Two of the drivers were married. Where were the wives? Inside toiling over their laundry - of course.
The dog, I mean the meal, seemed to be a huge success. Everybody, not me, contributed some $$ to the cause and for the next two hours there was more gas passed and drivers lined up for the two stalls to deal with the feast they had just consumed, than at Shriners convention. I begged the "extended coverage" weekend folks to please turn on the A/C. It was WW1 (chemical warfare, gas masks, etc. - get it?) in and around my cubicle. The air in the building, since the price of fuel doubled, is either off or turned way up. Nobody cares that drivers are here, watching tv, blogging, grilling little dogs and engaging in "extreme" farting.
As I sit here, in my cubicle, the A/C is still on. The stench almost gone. The bathroom is once again free. The cleanup is over. Our "special" guest is outside somewhere. Probably in someones truck. With one of the laundry wives, perhaps? I can only dream. I kidding! She said she was bisexual right? Maybe that someone supposedly following her, found her and off she went. Who knows?
It is 8:24 PM. 7:24 central time. I've been here for most of the day. It is a lot more comfortable here than my truck seat and I'm not idling. That's got to make the company happy. Would the company President, a conservative guy who doesn't even allow his drivers to access porn if they dial up using the free company wi-fi, be pleased that we - they - had a "special" guest for dinner. Kinda of a truckers version of "Guess whose com'n to dinner?" Probably not, but what happens in Oklahoma, stays in Oklahoma. Or is that Vegas?
Now if your curious and want to hear that Pink "You make me sick" song - the album is not that bad - I actually listened to a few tunes - go here: http://myplay.com/video-player/pink/you-make-me-sick
The credit for the photo is www.bbc.co.uk/radio1/dickanddom/galleries/2874/4
