Over the past year hundreds of people a couple of
people have asked me what a typical day is like in my life as an over-the-road trucker. I usually answer with my standard reply, “You
don’t want to know” “Each day is an adventure!” Instead of giving such a non-detailed
response I decided to be brutally honest more thoughtful with my
description.
For example: Last Monday I woke up dreading getting out
of my bunk eager to meet the challenges of the road. I called my dispatcher
and he offered me a load into Hell Detroit. I replied with, “Screw
that,” “Are there alternate
destinations?” I begrudgingly settled for enthusiastically agreed to a Chicago
run. Famous for its paralyzing traffic popularity among commuters and decaying
infrastructure world famous skyline, I felt an overwhelming sense of regret
excitement for my visit into the bowels heart of America.
My pre-trip preparation included planning a route that would
get me in and out of the city without being murdered as efficiently as
possible. As I inspected my truck I hoped to find a mechanical failure that
would cancel the load I noted that all operating systems were in proper
working order. After checking my maps, I tossed my food and clothes in a
heap carefully stowed my supplies and set off with tears a gleam in
my eyes. I had nothing ahead of me but 500 miles of construction open
road.
As I inched cruised my way into the city I took
notice of all the car drivers flipping me off politely waving as my big
truck joined them for the morning rush. There must’ve been a popular song on the
radio, as I saw my fellow motorists pounding their fists on the steering
wheels tapping their hands to the beat and cursing uncontrollably
singing along. After hours of wanting to abandon my truck carefully
navigating the streets of the inner city, I reached my boiling point
drop point. The foreman scolds me for arriving early thanks me for being
prompt and banishes me to the end of the line promises he’ll unload me
as quickly as possible. With a day’s wait ahead of me a little time on
my hands I had a chance to take in a freak show visit the driver’s
lounge. If you want to feel better about yourself meet a diverse
collection of personalities, just spend a little time where truckers hang out.
Step into any truck stop and you can practically smell the restrooms vital
contributions we make to our nation. With limited access to running water, I’ve witnessed some drivers rinsing soiled laundry and washing
their feet in a crowded bathroom sink multi-tasking while tidying up. I
always think to myself, “Damned heathens!” “Golly, they’re concerned with
maintaining a respectable appearance!”
After being ignored most of the afternoon getting
unloaded it’s time to burn rubber out of this place say my goodbyes and
get to my next load. With my electronic babysitter logbook ticking away I need to cheat my clock make the most of my remaining drive time.
I’ll skip meals and restroom breaks so I can roll into a truck stop with my
violation alarm going off an honest day’s work under my belt. All that’s
left is to wedge my truck into a parking space other drivers have avoided set
up camp and sob into my pillow relax for the evening.
I often wonder how I found myself in this nightmare
dream world. It seems like only yesterday I was desperate for a job,
seeking a career change. It’s often said that trucking isn’t a job - it’s a life
sentence lifestyle. I, for one, can’t wait until I get paroled
to do it all over again tomorrow.
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