Scurrilous Commitment

Monday, July 26th began abruptly with stereo alarms on each side of me. Now, let me tell you, waking up at a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike will make you feel real ambitious, especially at the crack of dawn. It could have been cold. I did wake up next to a frozen bottle of water last winter. At least the weather was the best I'd seen since embracing Maine about a month ago. When it's nice, summer mornings are the best in my book. The GPS told me that the delivery was 27 miles from where I was. I just wanted to get this one over with. The Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn isn't one of my favorite places, but they don't tell you exactly where you're going until you commit to the load. Commitment can be a scurrilous affair in this business. After splashing some water on my face, I jumped in the seat and pulled all the controls into position. As the Fat Cat purred to life, I updated the obligatory Driver's Log after a ritual beating of the tires with my rubber mallet and a light and undercarriage check. Back in the driver's perch, I pushed her into gear and let the clutch out with care.


The morning sky was an advanced version of 5:45 am at this time of the year compared to what I'm accustomed to at home in Georgia, which is further west in the Eastern Time Zone. The fabled Turnpike was light on traffic and figured I'd be in Brooklyn in no time. Passing over the Goethals Bridge provided a vantage view of a calm city poised to erupt. As I wheeled onto Bushwick Avenue, the King's Borough was eerily quiet, much like a morning after a great party. I spied a dog walker here and there and a lonely sanitation truck. Wow, my thought was that I picked the perfect time to do this.

The address was easy to find and there was plenty of room to pull the truck right in front of the drop. Immediately, I was greeted by a guy who reminded me a lot of George Carlin in appearance and how he carried himself. We struck up a little conversation about the nice, cool weather and the benefits of starting early. It was 6:30 am and I wasn't expected until 8. My new found friend said "I'll get you unloaded, no problem!" Privately, I thought this just might turn out to be a great day.

There wasn't a loading dock to back up to, so George brought out some chains to go with the forklift. When there's no dock, we attach chains under the wooden freight pallets and drag the goods to the edge of the cargo hold so then the forks of the lift can take the pallets off the truck. George asked "are you going to get into the back of the truck?” He added that he just turned 61 and that jumping in and out of trucks wasn't really part of his repertoire any longer. I replied that I could appreciate that, but not to worry, I have my own little system for hopping in and out of the back of this truck.

We were able to pull all the freight off easily and I thanked George for his help with a "yoos have a good day." It was 7 am, aHEAD of schedule. I almost wrenched my arm patting myself on the back.

Next, all the fun began all at once. As I headed for the Williamsburg Bridge for Manhattan and The George Washington to New Jersey, I was halted by a NYPD Police Cruiser parked sideways with his lights blazing away, blocking the approach to the Williamsburg. Newsradio WCBS informed me that a tractor trailer had rammed the underpass and that there was a fuel spill to go along with that mess. My first thought was "did this guy have fuel tanks on his roof?" Dam. What kind of a truck is that? Well, just about that time, everybody in the borough of Brooklyn woke up and jumped in their cars. Complete and utter gridlock decended from the heavens. You've heard the phrase "...in a New York minute." That's about how long it took for traffic to lock up completely. I watched the same signal cycle through green, red and yellow about six times before moving an inch. I flashed back to Friday, July 2nd when I got caught in the holiday traffic nighmare on the Cross Bronx Expressway. That little number took five hours to go ninety miles. My arse is still sore from that ride.

The other approach to the Williamsburg was blocked as well, so this trucker idiot must have really screwed it up good. After playing with a series of lefts and rights I came upon an electronic sign for the Holland Tunnel that said a three axel truck was ok to use tunnel. Great! I'm now thinking I can now cruise right into I-78 and the safety of New Jersey. I pulled up to the checkpoint area before the tunnel and get "pointed over" by a NYPO. I popped out the truck and looked at the overhead height checker and see a bunch of swaying batans. The officer came over to me where I could see that his uniform cap with the patent leather brim was pulled down so far, I couldn't see his eyebrows. From underneath the that cap, I heard the thickest Heinz Ketchup New York accent tell me "you're too high, you got to take the Bridge" Ok ouffisa, I responded, yoos have a guood day. Crap. Now I have to to go all the way uptown on the Westside Highway, over to Broadway, through a piece of the Bronx and then to the George Washington Bridge, affectionately known to the locals as simply The GWB.

I made it to the Vince Lombardi Service Area off the New Jersey Turnpike (NJTP). The locals call this gem of a road simply The Turnpike. As I was getting comfortable, my stomach was rebelling for breakfast. Again, in a New York minute, Betty from Company Central calls and nicely asks "did you get the opportunity we sent from Springfield Gardens, NY to Poughkeepsie?" I said "yeah, I saw it Betty. I just came from three hours of molton gridlock and it would take something extra special to get me back into the city right now. You'd have to give me twice what you're offering to go." Now, keep in mind that these girls are very skilled at getting loads covered. She then happily proclaims "Great! I'll put you on it for twice and send the info on your Q-comm!" At this point, I'm reeling. What in the H E double toothpicks just happened?" Now, I get to go back over the GWB, The Whitestone and to JFK INTERNATIONAL FREAKING AIRPORT! Yes, I'm hip to that nice little trick. Springfield Gardens is a quaint little name they give to the freight terminal adjacent to one of the maddest airports in existence. At this point, I'm looking around the truck for a paper bag to breathe in and out of.

I made JFK in good time and wheeled the Fat Cat through some barbaric midday traffic, then, proceeded to send my arrival time on the Q-comm only to realize they had bumped the time from 1300 hours to 1500. No, problem, I'll just hang out and play with facebook while I wait. At three, I approached the logistics desk to acquire the paperwork needed to receive an international shipment, this being computer equipment from Korea. About an hour later Jeanette, with jet black pulled back into a pony tail New York hair calls me over from the waiting area and informs me "they cuolled and sed that the computa went down and the shipment won't be ready until tuomorra." Dam. My dreams of a King's Ransom in pay, dashed into the ground. It cost me $24 for the GWB, $18 for the Whitestone and about $10 in fuel from NJ. And...it will cost another $18 to do the Whitestone again. The GWB is no charge to NJ. Do the math. Back on the phone with dispatch, I was able to plead my case and get my tolls reimbursed on my company card.

Now returned to Jersey in one piece, at the Vince Lombardi, barely parked, my Q-comm chirps out a series of load opportunities that I sniffed at like a snob. Then, Jamesburg, NJ to West Haven, Connecticut appeared. Ok, we'll double that price for jollies and see what happens. I'm sure your momma said "be careful what you wish for, you just may get it." Well, double it came back, and like a jolly Santa Clause, I pressed "1" for accept. I thought this one would be a piece of cake...down the Turnpike a few exits and then back up to 287, making the wide turn around New York and up to 95 on up to West Haven. No problem! What I missed was three little words that read "one additional stop". When the load info starting spitting out, it was glaring right at me in computer font, "Stop #2, Syosett, NY" SYOSSETT FREAKING NEW YORK?" OH, NO! Syossett Freaking New York is on Long Island. The only way to get to Syossett Freaking New York is through freaking Brooklyn and freaking Queens and bridges with tolls, mayhem and who knows what ever else. At this point, I looked around the truck for rope. I felt like the professor on Felix the Cat when he operated that contraption with the shoe. Pulling on a rope, he would cause a big shoe to kick himself in the butt proclaiming "I made a boo boo, I made a boo boo." Well, I made a boo boo. What was that about "scurrilous commitment?" It was right here, served up on a silver platter, for me to enjoy.

I'll survive the drama. I'll make money. I just wanted a break from New York for one skinny little day. Maybe I'll get it on Wednesday. Just one little day. One can only hope. I will surely read the next opp in its entirety!