Our Uriah Heep

2008 July 25
by Hedon

So we’re sitting here in Louisville waiting to deliver to a grocery warehouse. With no A/C in the front half of the truck. Bunk fan is working fine but fan in driver’s area is dead. Tried to get it fixed last night. Tried three different shops. Still sitting here in the heat. This is trucking, after all. At least its not too hot. When we got here we found out our appointment had been messed up so who knows when we will actually get unloaded. Trucking. Its just like a paid vacation.

Our dispatcher, who I believe I will henceforth call Uriah Heep, is a slimy little ass. Dickens fans will appreciate the name choice. For the rest of you, Uriah was this little jerk who acted like he was loyal to his boss while actually stabbing him in the back. Well its much more complicated than that, but suffice to say Dickens’ Uriah was a really bad dude who was a filthy little liar. Just like our Uriah. (If you don’t read Dickens, you should consider giving him a whirl as he can be quite funny)

Back to Uriah. So he is always lying to us. And arguing. And ignoring us. And trying to demand we do stupid crap we’re not going to do. And then pretending like he didn’t do/say it at all. Or it was somebody else’s fault. Or out of his control. Liar.

I told him today that I had been a little under the weather and when we delivered this grocery load I wanted a day off. So he said, “sure, no problem” and less than an hour later he sent us a new load that picked up as soon as this one finished.

Stace said I should call him up and give him the real story. So I was driving along trying to think of all the things I would like to say to him. I think it would go something like this:

Look here, Uriah, I have been trying to spare your delicate sensibilities, but since you’re not going to take me seriously I’m going to have to spell it out for you. I am in raging full-blown peri-menopause. Do you know what that means?

I am retaining so much water my calves and ankles look like bone-in hams. Oh sure… I suppose they always look kinda like hams, but they usually look like those really good smoked Virginia hams. Right now they look like squishy 18%-added-water Wal-Mart hams. The dog tried to step up on my shin this morning and jerked back in terror when her paw sunk in over her ankle. I still have the paw imprint 13 hours later.

I haven’t had a really good night’s sleep in over a week partially because of the loads we’ve been running but also because I keep waking up several times a night so hot I’m convinced the truck must be on fire. Or maybe Stace has somehow driven us into hell.

And I just found out today that apparently body parts I’m pretty fond of are going to shrivel up into one of those carved-apple faces we made in 3rd grade art class. While my bones slowly take on the consistency of a stiff meringue.

My back has hurt for more than a week because I am currently on day nine of a monstrous period determined to make up for the three months of freedom I’ve had recently.

I need a day off, Uriah.

Yeah I think that’s how it would go. Wish I had his home phone number.

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