I'm sorry

Just another day in the big rig.

Well, almost.

I had had ENOUGH! Ever have one of those days? Apparently I owe an apology (kinda sorta) to a four-wheeler driver in Chicago.

As a big truck driver one of the realities of your job is that you deal with being cut off all day every day. It’s a fact of life. Often it doesn’t really bother me anymore. Some drivers fight back, I know you’ve seen them, blocking lanes to keep the four-wheeler from running up the shoulder and cutting in. Why is this an appropriate action when we wouldn’t think of cutting in front of people in the grocery store check-out? I move slower, it’s a fact of life, and my truck does as well. Fully loaded I weigh 20 times what the average mini van weighs. You can get that off the line in a hurry.

Anyway, I had had enough, as I said. Long day driving to and around Chicago, folks cutting in and out, bumper to bumper traffic, and I was running a later than I wanted so I changed my route and ended up on a road I don’t normally travel.

Get this picture. Sign says right lane closed. I move to the center 2 miles early. No sense fighting. Got an exit I need coming up in 2 ½ miles. I figure the exit is after the lane closure. Get close. Right lane is closed but not the right lane that I was in. It was the right lane that was added when traffic merged from another road. So now I am one lane further left than I need to be and the exit traffic is slowing down to get off and I’m stuck. I signal right, slow down, try to find a hole to fit in, not easy when you’re 80 feet long in bumper to bumper traffic. No one is letting me in. So I did something I never do. If figure “run it on up to the exit and just cut in front of everyone like all the four wheelers do. Sorry, I had had enough, remember?

So I did just that and lo and behold I found an opening right at the exit I could squeeze into. The car didn’t see me coming and had backed off so I had room. I hit the exit, (turn signal on all the way up the row) and he finally saw me wanting in. No way, buddy. You’re not getting in front of me, and so he speeds up to keep me out. Bad move. On his part and on my part. I should have gone on down the road, found another exit and came back. But I had…well, you know. So I just kept on coming. His choices; 1) back off and let me in, 2) stay in his lane and hope that I will not roll over top of him, 3) duck between the orange barrels and get out of that lane, 4) shoot out the tires of my truck.

He chose option #3.

He was not happy with his choice.

Neither was I.

At that exact moment I was sort of hoping for him to choose #2 but about 3 miles down the road I started feeling bad about what I had done. That’s not like me. I’m not an aggressive driver. Usually I’m a really “go with the flow” kind of guy. Just a bad day. But it reminded me that there are a lot of things about driving a big rig that the general public has no knowledge of. And everybody can have a bad day. They don’t understand why we do the things we do sometimes.

Do you wonder sometimes why we do what we do? It’s discussion time.

And to that fellow in Chicago, I’m sorry. Dinner’s on me.

4Real?

I was reading an article on the web today about this couple from New Zealand who wanted to name their new baby "4real". You can check it out if you'd like but the article basically states that the government of New Zealand won't allow them to do this since "numbers aren't allowed".

Now I would never put my kid through the trauma of living their entire life with a name like 4real, Satan, or Adolf and I think that any parent that would should really be questioned regarding their parenting capabilities. But the one thing I do have a problem with is the government stepping in and saying "No, you can't do that." Now I also realize that this wasn't the US that made this decision but our government entities have made some choices that were just as bad.

There is this woman in Columbus, OH who may lose her plate because society has changed around her and the online world has invaded the offline world. "NWTF". "Northwood Tree Farm", "National Wild Turkey Federation", "National Wind Tunnel Facility", "Noxious Weed Trust Fund", "Nuclear Waste Task Force", "Northwest Water Treatment Facility", or the impolite form of "Now What The Freak".

Maybe it's just me but I get really irritated when any form of government tells me what I can and can't do, even if I calm down later and see how they may be right about a certain issue. It stills irks me that they want to tell me what to do. Maybe I'm just a curmudgeon. Does anyone else feel that way? Maybe it's just me.

Well, ya'll have fun. Just pretend you're all in Antilles with Anne and she's picking up the tab. Does that work?

Breakdown

I hate being late. I absolutely despise it. I have been running the same runs now for a little over six years and I know when I'm supposed to be somewhere. I don't have any set appointment times but if I'm not at a certain spot by a certain time then I may not get it all done that day.

This looked like it was going to be that kind of day.



I had two stops in Columbus, three in Cincinnati, one in Lawrenceburg, IN, one in Indianapolis and one in Lafayette, IN that I was due to get off the truck on Monday. This was three weeks ago.



I made my first stop in Columbus and as I pulled into the parking lot I could hear air leaking around the service valve on my dash. (Also known as the parking brake knobs.) Not a good sign when you hear air.



I pulled the knobs out and the air quit, which means one thing. The air is leaking from the brake system somewhere. The next step is to find it. The first place I looked was the brake chambers. Now for those of you not familiar with the mechanical workings of a tractor trailer, each axle of a truck and trailer has two brake chambers on them. They are air operated and the system operates between 90 and 120 psi. If it falls below 60 psi then the emergency spring brakes lock up and the truck is not going nowhere. I really didn't want that to happen. You're pretty much dead in the water, so to speak, if you get below 60.

I made a few phone calls and found a shop that would take care of my problem and I figured I could limp her over there since it was only about 20 minutes away. All seemed to be going good at this point. I found the shop, checked in, promised my next child or motorcycle, whichever came first, and went to the drivers lounge to watch some TV and wait for my truck to be fixed. (The new shiny part in the picture is a brake chamber.)

The repair normally should only take about an hour to fix and so after two hours of not hearing anything from them I went back out to the desk to check on the progress. At this point, they had not even started on my truck, even though they had an available mechanic and an open bay. I asked what the problem was.

"We have to give the customer a quote first before we can start the work and we don't know if you need the whole chamber or a piggyback."(A piggyback is basically half of a brake chamber.)

"What's the difference in price?" I asked.

"A full chamber is $57 and a piggyback is $39."

"Put the full one on," I said. I figured for $18 bucks difference it was worth knowing that the whole thing was good for another few hundred thousand miles. Besides, I needed to get going and a full chamber is easier to install than a piggyback.

Back to the lounge I went to watch a snowy version of The View, (not my favorite show, always figured they should have been in front of a fence instead of a coffee table) on the one channel that would come in, and began to wait again. At times I would wander outside and check the progress of my truck and was not very pleased with what I saw.

At three hours I was once again sitting out front, smoking a cigarette, and stewing about being late. Another trucker who needed repairs done had tied his dog up to a post by the front door and I sat there fuming while this black and white mutt, who looked like he had a lot of Pit bull in him, chewed on his bone.

The day was beautiful and I should have been enjoying it cruising down the highway, but I was stuck here on a bench while some mechanic took his sweet time with my ride. I was getting hotter by the minute.

"You really need to learn to relax."

I looked around to see who had given me these great pearls of wisdom and was a bit confused to see that I was still alone. No one else was within 50 feet of me, except for that mixed mongrel, and the voice had definitely come from withing just a few feet. Or so it seemed. I began to think I was hearing things in my stressed out condition.

"Who was that?" I said glancing around.

"Just me," I heard and still saw no one but the dog.

I took a long look at the dog wondering if he had heard it too since he was staring right at me.

"Did you hear that too, boy?" I asked the mutt.

"Of course I heard it," the dog answered. "I'm the one who said it, and please don't call me "boy". I'm 37 and I find it demeaning." It was at this point that I knew I had been waiting way too long. I was mad and hot and fuming and I was hearing things. I picked up my cell phone and thought about calling my boss to tell him to send a replacement driver since I was obviously cracking up.

"Who you calling?" I heard and glanced up quickly to see the lips of the dog form the last word of the question.

I just stared at him wondering if I was really losing my mind or if a miracle was happening or if...I don't know what.

I was staring straight at the dog when he said, "Didn't your mother teach you not to stare? And it's also pretty rude not to answer a question that's been posed to you. At least my mother taught me that much."

" I was calling my boss," I said. "Obviously I'm too sick to drive if I'm hearing dogs talk."

"You've never heard dogs talk?" he asked.

"No. Can't say that I have," I said and I could not believe that I was carrying on a conversation with a dog.

"Hm," was all he said as if he found this quite curious.

"Do you often hear dogs talk?" I asked immediately realizing how stupid the question was.

"No," he said and I could hear the sarcasm in his voice. "Usually it's just rocks that I hear talking."

I stared at him wondering if just maybe he had sent a little barb my way. Yes, he had. I had just been insulted by a mixed-blood mongrel of a mutt outside a truck garage in Columbus, Ohio.

Might as well roll with it, I figured. "So why do you say I should learn to relax?" I asked obviously expecting some great pearls of wisdom to come forth. Why else would I be hearing a dog speak to me if not to gain some message meant only for me.

"You just do," he said. "I can see you're all worked up by the way you're smokin' and cussin'. Even a cat could see that you're pretty pissed about having to wait for your truck. Just relax. You can't make 'em work faster but you can make 'em work slower if you piss 'em off."

"So how do I relax when I'm pushing 4 hours behind right now?"

"I don't know. Just relax. I'm not God you know. I don't have all the answers."

Here I was talking to a dog! I could not believe it! Why else would I be talking to a dog if not to gain some message from the event, some great new thought for my mixed up life, some ecclesiastical teaching that could lead me to greater heights of wisdom than any man has ever reached. And he was just saying "Relax".

"That's it? No great insights? Just that I should relax?" I said.

"Yeah, that's it," he said.

"I figured if I'm talking to a dog you would have some great message for me."

"Why's that?" he said. "I already told you I'm not God."

"Yes, but you're a dog! Dogs don't normally talk so there must be a reason for this conversation to be taking place other than for me to just calm down a little."

"Don't know where you've been living, buddy," he said. "But I hear dogs talk all the time."

"Yes, but you ARE a dog!" I shouted.

" I think we've already established that," he said. "And I'm not sure I really like the way you keep saying that."

I had just offended the sensibilities of a black and white pit-bull mixed dog. What was my world coming to?

"I'm sorry I said. I didn't mean to offend you," I said.

"Apology accepted."

"So there's no other message other than that I should calm down."

"Nope"

"No great pearls of wisdom?"

"Uh-uh."

"No insight into the inner workings of the cosmos?"

"I'm a dog for crying out loud," he said. "You can't seem to get that through you're head!" At this point he cocked his head a little and said,"You want some insight? some wisdom?"

"Yes," I said. "Maybe that would make this whole encounter mean something profound to me."

"OK," he said, as he stood and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Here's your great pearl."

I leaned forward expecting something that might come from the mouth of Gandhi or Mother Teresa or Martin Luther King Jr.

"At least you don't have to worry about being neutered against your will," and with that he walked around to the other side of the bench and lay down with a sigh.

I sat there staring at his tail twitching in the dirt and realized that he was right.

Maybe I would just go back inside and watch some more of The View while they finished my truck.

Irritation

I live on a fairly busy street corner. It's a four way stop right across from a city park which is very nice, for the kids especially this time of year, and I am one block from the busiest video store in town and three blocks from the high school. I love my house and overall I love the location. But...

Our town, like most in this fine country of ours, has a noise ordinance. If I can hear your music outside your car from 25 feet away it's too loud. At least that's what the town fathers think. Actually, I would think 5 feet is more appropriate but then that's just me. The old fat man with bad ears and a chip on his shoulder.

Now before you right me off as a curmudgeon, let me finish.

I'm sure you've all heard of kickers; those monster speakers that kids put in their cars so that the bass can vibrate their fillings out. Not only do they cause brain damage, which was recently proven in a study conducted by the National Society for the Prevention of Idiot Drivers, but they also rattle the screws of your car loose causing various automobile debris to litter our streets and highways. There was a young man at work who had one in his car and he thought it would be cool to see how loud it would go. He proceeded to crank it up forgetting that noise is made up of multiple waves that move and like most waves can possibly cause damage when it comes into contact with a stationary object. The stationary object in this case being the two back windows of his car. It was real sad to see him coming to work with plastic covering his back windows after they were shattered by his "fun" but we chuckled anyway. That's what old people do mostly is chuckle.

Well, with a four way stop in front of my house right down from the high school, I am exposed to these "kickers" on a regular basis. Therefore I have come up with a solution that I think you will love and you will probably want to install yourself. This will be fine and I will send you the necessary forms to fill out for franchisee rights if you are interested.

I call my invention The Kicker Cooler.

What I did was run a sprinkler line from my house water line to the street corner in front of my house with an electrical line running along side the water line in a separate conduit. At the end of the water line I installed one high pressure sprinkler head with a reservoir adapter between the head and the line. A reservoir adapter is similar to one of those chemical weeder things you attach to the end of your garden hose to keep crab grass down. As the water runs by the reservoir it sucks up a little of the chemical thereby saving you the trouble of having to mix your chemicals beforehand. The electrical line goes from the house to the sprinkler and operates the sensor unit which I installed. this sensor is sound activated and is set to go off at a certain decibel level. Exactly what the level is I am not sure as I am still in the adjustment phases.

So here's what happens. A young man or woman, ideally in a convertible pulls up to the stop sign in front of my house. There music volume is set to "deaf in two years" on the dial. I meanwhile am on the porch awaiting the show. The rest of this scenario occurs very quickly so try not to miss it.

Teen in car at stop sign

Loud music coming from car

Loud music triggers sound sensor

Sound sensor trips water valve at house

Water valve opens sending water down sprinkler line

Water rushes through sprinkler line to sprinkler head which is aimed 36 inches off the ground at 8 feet of distance

As water passes reservoir it picks up a small amount of nail polish remover

Water/NPR mixture rushes out head of sprinkler and blasts the car at the stop sign

I know, I know. You are all amazed at my genius. But here are a few things you may not know. Nail polish remover also acts as a paint remover on automobile paint thereby making the locating of the offending noise violators much easier for the police after I have called them. Also the sprinkler head that I installed is one that I modified from a tombstone maker. In other words, with the right pressure it'll cut through stone. A Dodge Neon can't stand up to that kind of force. (chuckle chuckle)

Plus I added small motor at the end of the line that will twist the sprinkler head back and forth and up and down insuring (or is it ensuring) full coverage. If the car windows are down, the effects are that much more enjoyable.

That is until last week. You see here's the problem.

In our town like most towns, there are things that make loud noises, that are coincidentally loud enough to trip my sensor, that are also supposed to be that loud. I can see you're already ahead of me.

We had an accident about two blocks from me and while no one was seriously injured in the accident, the police and ambulance and, yes it's true, the fire department were all dispatched to the scene. And here they come. Racing down my street. Cars are moving aside for them but it's still busy and they are not really making good time. That was their first mistake.

The police car was the first one to the stop sign and he paused to make sure a little old woman at the cross street was going to stop for his siren. That, friends, was his second mistake.

My ingenious system went off like clockwork. A high pressure blast hit the door of the police car at about 2100 feet per second. The spray wobbled back and forth soaking the car and the officer who, unfortunately had his window down. As I sat on the porch watching the show and dreading the repercussions that I knew would occur, I was amazed to see the sign "Protect and Serve" begin to slide down the officer's door until all that was left was "Pro.....n.......e". The irony was not lost on me at the time for I knew I would be "prone" as well before long.

But, to my surprise, the officer did not completely stop but continued to the accident. This was his third mistake. Because right behind him were the ambulance and the fire truck in close order. I was not certain if my "Kicker Cooler" would have time to reset itself before the ambulance or the fire truck reached it but apparently my engineering skills are better than I had previously thought.

The town of Galion now has three, yes, count them, three municipal vehicles with what appears to be a tie-dyed stripe down the driver's side, one police officer with a new blond streak on his left side, and one of it's finer citizens awaiting a court trial on charges of "criminal mischief". Luckily bail was pretty low since the judge had a hard time hearing the case. For some reason he couldn't quit giggling. I don't think he liked that particular officer but I don't know that for sure.

If you would like to contribute to my defense fund please call 1-800-Free-OFM (OFM=Old Fat Man). An operator will walk you through the steps and give you a confirmation number for your tax records. I take Visa, MasterCard, Am ex, Discover, Pay pal, Cash, Checks, and Green Stamps. If you would like a "Kicker Cooler" system of your own please indicate that as well. Operators are standing by.