The Doors of Agent 86

I had hoped to be home for Easter, but the way my schedule was working, it wouldn’t be so this year. I’d been to every Easter service in the new church building at Providence since we opened it. In fact, the very first service in that sanctuary was Easter Sunday, 2007. This year, I would observe the culmination of the most solemn religious week of the year in Chicago, alone. That’s ok, a weekend in solitude would give me a sense of introspection I need from time to time. This was my twelfth time here since last summer and the very first time I would actually get to lay over here. On the holy morning, I awoke to bright sunshine and strong winds after a rainy northern Illinois night. The air was cool and I had to fight to keep my ball cap on my head. The Windy City was truly living up to its nickname today.

Chicago is a busy place with freight going every which way twenty four-seven. Even so, I thought I’d get one more night to lay back and gear up for Monday. Not this time. The company called and pleaded with me to take a special “hot” load of special auto parts to an assembly plant in the Cincinnati area for early Monday morning delivery. I agreed and quickly readied up for the run. The bright sunshine was clouding up rapidly and rain became eminent.

As the song goes “…some days are diamonds and some days are stone...” Well, this would be one of those of days of stone…or night, if you’re keeping score. As I’m nearing my pick up destination, in heavy getaway Chicago Easter traffic, in the pouring rain, the company calls and says “you have to pick up a fax before you can get the load.” I responded with an irritated “great, where do you think I can pick up a fax in Downtown Chicago?” I had wished they let me know that back at the truck stop. It would have been easy to pop in to the fuel desk and get it. Dam. My only option was a convenience store near O’Hare. Fortunately, they were able to accommodate me. But, when the fax arrived, it was un-readable. I called the company back and was instructed to just go to the pickup point with the mushy document.

I navigated the famous Chicago congestion and arrived at the international transfer point for the load at the second busiest airport in America. Upon entering the building, I was greeted by a series of doors to get to the shipping window. If you remember the 60’s TV show “Get Smart”, it was like the opening scenes of Agent 86 making his way to the telephone booth where he crosses his arms and disappears straight down.

I get back to the window and apologetically present the obligatory un-readable fax to a perplexed looking middle aged lady who summoned two other male colleagues to try to decipher the brain puzzling mode of communication. She returns the baffling document with a shrug of the shoulders and a “we can’t read this. I have no idea what you’re here for.” Privately, I felt like an idiot. Now, it was time to start dialing for dollars and un-ravel this crime scene of a document. I knew at this point, it was going to be a long night.

Two hours and a bunch of calls back and forth solved the mystery and now I could get loaded and head out. I was granted permission to enter the warehouse and prep the truck for ten pallets of parts that the plant on the other end needed to continue production. They were waiting on me. The pressure was on. The assembly line was shut down until I got there. Anxious managers on the other end wanted this shipment badly. The prospect of paying auto workers to stay on duty while doing nothing wasn’t sitting well with the powers that be. I don’t blame them, not in these economic times. The silver lining here was the fact that an auto plant was in production, working overtime on a holiday. Perhaps, this could be interpreted as a good sign for the economy.

Well, sometimes forward motion in this business is like riding a Jeep in the woods. Next, I was greeted by a fellow who I could picture at a metal thrash club. Somewhat short, and bearded, he looked like he had been beat silly with loud music. I made room for the load and he proceeded to forklift the goods that had just arrived from China on the Fat Cat. At this point, I came to the realization that I don’t think I’ve ever seen a forklift operator drive and work as slow as he did. I looked at my watch so much that I could have looked the numbers right off my wrist. Then I noticed that he had nine pallets on the truck with no room for a tenth. Now, I know ten will fit on my truck. Just when I’m about to open my mouth, a supervisor comes over and surveys the situation and orders the rave clubber off the forklift and then gets on and begins unloading my cargo himself. At least this guy can pedal this thing a bit. The supervisor takes everything off and re-loads it correctly, getting all ten on. Miracles never cease.

At this point, I was nearing the four hour mark here. The problem is that I can only drive eleven hours in a day and then have to shut down for ten. You can be on duty, not driving for fourteen and that’s it. Once you start driving, the fourteen hour clock starts and it doesn’t stop. There are no exceptions and if you’re caught going over hours, they can fine you…heavily. I knew at this point with travel time to Cincinnati, it would be close by the time I got there. Roadside breaks would have to be very brief and I’d have to stay moving for most of the run without stopping like I usually do.

Daybreak arrived and I had my destination in view. It was a tough overnight run to get there on time. I didn’t see dancing animals on the highway, but was close to that point. I pulled into the plant and headed to the shipping office to check in and determine where to unload at this sizeable manufacturing facility. I was instructed to tell them it was urgent “shut down freight”. The clerk there directed me to a loading dock on the other side of the plant.

I get to where I’m directed and a fork lift lady now informs me I she can’t unload me at that particular dock so I drive around to another and proceed to ready the truck for the delivery. Most places, I get on the dock and enter my cargo hold to remove load bracing bars and perform other tasks in an effort to prep it for forklifts to enter and remove the goods.

Another lady spies me there and yells at me for being on the dock. “You’re not supposed to be in this part of the warehouse”. I replied ok, and then you’ll remove the load bars and then replace them back in my truck?” She answers me with a strained “yes, but you really need to be off the dock right now.” As I’m leaving the area, the first woman approaches me with a florescent yellow vest and instructs me to do what I need to do on the dock. As I begin doing what I need to do, the second woman comes back around and says “I thought I told you not to be on the dock!” This was now turning into a Three Stooges routine. Except now, I wanted to be Moe and give someone a two finger poke in the eyes and a smack on the noggin. I left the dock and the first lady comes back around and asks me if I’m going to remove the load bars! I handed my yellow vest over and explained that she was going to have to do it herself. I could see a frustrated look on her face. I wanted to tell her welcome to my world, but was too tired to get into it.

Finally, the load was off the truck and out of my hair. I now had just enough time to slink off to my favorite truck stop in Florence, Kentucky across the river. Now, like Barnaby Jones, I could enjoy a bottle of milk and a long daytime sleep in the Bluegrass sunshine. I earned every penny of this one.