Gads, TWMNBN must be seriously going on a rampage of rate-undercutting to have drummed up so much excess freight in the last month or so. They are killing us! And that’s why we haven’t been blogging of late.
It was so bad the other day, after such a tremendous amount of boobery that we both thought if we had our fingers on the presidential red button we would be fighting one another over who got the honor of pushing it, that I actually was extremely bitchy to Uriah and other incompetents at TWNMBN.
I am, in general, very polite to these people, even when they are driving me the nuttiest, simply because my mother taught me you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And I’ve found this to be good advice. Sometimes, though, you’ve just gotta whip out the cruet, pull off the fancy top with your teeth, and madly fling around the sour stuff.
After spending over 15 hours on some jacked-up load that didn’t pay us what we spent at Subway for lunch, they wanted to jerk us around even more by making us drop the trailer we had just spent five hours trying to get loaded (but which would eventually bring us 1300 fairly leisurely miles) at a yard, so we could do another endless empty trailer hunt and then pick up a crappy 125 mile load for them, rapidly followed by another load of 1000 miles at timed-transit. Not a good thing to do to women who have had only four hours of sleep in 36 hours.
I don’t really remember all I said to Uriah, which is probably just as well. I do remember that at the end of the one-sided conversation, I told him that in four hours, the truck would be parked and we would be asleep, no matter what they decided to do about their crap loads. He buckled. Or I thought he did.
He just passed the buck. In five minutes we had a call from a load planner trying to sweet talk us into doing what they wanted, giving us some sob story about how they don’t have the teams to run the timed-transit haz-mat loads, and blah blah blah, whine whine whine. We were doing enough of our own whining and sure as hell didn’t need any of his.
By this point, it was Hedon on the phone (what with me looking near apoplexy at this point), and she pulled out the coup-de-grace — “Sorry, dude, but we don’t have the hours to run those loads.”
The truth is, we really didn’t have enough hours. But … well … there are ways around things … uh … things that could have been done to enable us to squeeze out enough hours from our log books to have made it happen. We had no intention of doing any of those things.
I’m sick of TWMNBN burning our hours with solo and local runs and yet expecting us to keep going 24/7. If you’re gonna run us like that, then we’ve got to have time to sleep with the truck shut down. Period. Cause there ain’t no way I’ve found to get any sleep while your co-driver is bouncing around the pits of Chicago and being loaded and unloaded and stopping and going and banging and door slamming for 10 straight hours. So TWMNBN can suck it.
We wound up keeping the leisurely load, because no one at TWMNBN can overpower the “not enough hours” weapon. The load allowed us to sleep twice, and has brought us here, to Laredo.
It is here where Hedon pulled out our second coup-de-grace (yeah, yeah, I know, you can’t have two coups-de-grace — I’m not even sure you can pluralize it — ech — whatever). What was I saying? Oh yeah, the second coup-de-grace — the truck needs work. We’ve had “check engine” lights for a few days, and what sounds like a loose belt or possibly something wrong with a pulley for weeks, so we decided we’d get this work done in Laredo, since we really hadn’t completely recovered from all the earlier boobery of the previous eight days.
And that’s when we went to the local Freightliner shop and (play triumphant choir music here), discovered they aren’t open on Saturday or Sunday. We will have to wait here in Laredo until Monday! Hurrah! Time off! Too sweet.
You know, back in the old days when I worked a normal office job, 8 to 5, Monday through Friday, I looked forward to weekends. But I never really appreciated them the way I should have. Getting two whole days off out here on the road is such a rare occurrence, that when it happens, I’m as excited as if I’d gotten a week’s paid vacation to Bermuda.
Not that I’ve been to Bermuda, so I can’t say exactly, but Bermuda is my best guess, since it’s hot and I don’t like being hot, and tourists spend a lot of time on the beach, and I’m too fat to be frolicking about in public in a bathing suit without serious psychological repercussions for my fellow beachgoers, so therefore Bermuda would be a nice change of scenery but I would spend most of my time in the cool a/c of my hotel room, lying around on my bed watching television and harassing room service. So, yeah, I’m about as excited as I would be if I got a paid vacation to Bermuda. Which is pretty damned excited … but not as excited as I’d be with say, a paid vacation to Florence, Italy.
I hope I get to go to Italy someday. Maybe I’ll daydream about that for a bit — and I can do that, because I’m not tired, or pissed off, or being tossed around the truck over city streets. I can do that because I have two whole days off. This is where a little vinegar will get ya.