Black Friday

Well, I've witnessed it first hand now: Raw, pure Capitalism in its hottest form. Yes, I stood in awe at the east entrance of the Kohl's store, just out off to the side and watched as hundreds of crazed sleep deprived women burst through the doors at 5 AM. The air was charged with estrogen and the palpable hope that we'd have just one more 8" portable DVD player, maybe in the back? For seven minutes people streamed in- seven minutes at both entrances, the frenzied wide-eyed free for all raged on and there was nothing I could do but stand back and take it all in.

I’d been there since midnight, operating on hot coffee and three hours of sleep. Sam and I had vacuumed the floors, washed down the windows and mirrors, cleaned the bathrooms and taken out the trash in every department by 4 AM. Cars had been circling the parking lot as early as 1 AM and we took this as an ominous sign of what was to come. Many of the cashiers had never worked retail on the Day After and couldn’t believe the line that was forming out in the cold. For my part, having worked a Wal-Mart once back in 1999, the line was no surprise. We only had one trampling that year, and a couple fights, but Kohl’s was nowhere near as big a place, so I figured on having no trouble here. Thankfully, I was right.

The first lady through the door looked unsure of herself, a mixture of flushed emotion and the realization that for just a split second the whole store was hers. She disappeared into the Men’s department. A few bedraggled husbands made it through next and quickly stepped near me to get out of the way. They’d done their part running blockade for the wives, it was time to let them to do their thing. Two minutes after the doors opened was all it took to get our first transaction. This woman was smart; she’d come in the side entrance, grabbed some electronic gizmo she claimed was for her husband and dove through the stream of bodies still pouring through the front doors. She’d obviously planned out her strategy the day before.

My next three hours were a blur, but a happy blur at that. I have to admit, I really do like helping people get what they want. There’s just something about it I can’t rightly explain. I carried items out to cars, sacked for cashiers, ran upstairs to get vacuum cleaners, took people to empty towers to show them there wasn’t anymore of their desired item and so on. One older lady was so concerned she wouldn’t get one of our huge 11-in-1 gamming tables that she raised a fit with the cashier. I came over, put the table on hold and assured her she could have the thing when it was her turn in line. That’s all she needed to hear. And speaking of lines… well, let’s not.

In all, it was a good time, but I was glad to go home when I did. The store took in somewhere over $400,000 for the day or so I’m told. Four hundred thousand dollars, a lot of cash! Makes me wonder what I did with that 401k paper work…

GOBBLE, GOBBLE!

I hope everyone is having a great Thanksgiving Day! I have a long list of people I'm thankful for, for the creature comforts I've been given and so on, but I don't want to list them here. Just remember that the term "thanks giving" means that thanks is given to someone, namely God who gives all things- blessings & health, salvation & tribulation- according to his good pleasure and will.

I hope to see some of you soon! And... GO COWBOYS!!

Worth at least a hundred words...

I went out to the garage and found these. Maybe I shouldn't have.


That's Muslim Mike and the Peterbilt we drove. The tank simulator had about a thousand gallons of diesel fuel in its tanks, meaning that only people with HazMat training could transport it.


And that's me in front of the sim, about five years younger and seventy pounds heavier than I am now. I just wish we'd been allowed to go inside and see how the sim worked.

Me and Muslim Mike in the City of Brotherly Love (part 2)

We got an exciting job hauling million dollar Army tank simulators from upstate New York to Ft. Dix, NJ. A fun time for sure, since this was more or less a convoy affair with military escort. Mike introduced me to one of his former trainees in the group, who consequently was still a trainee; I could see why Mike liked me so much. The trip was quick through some of the prettiest parts of the country I’d seen so far, much to my surprise. The whole scene is mostly a Thomas Kinkade postcard mixed with a little Norman Rockwell Saturday Evening Post. The closer one came to The City however, the grayer things got; something I wrongly figured the whole of New York State to be.

The group arrives just outside of Ft. Dix the evening before our delivery was due and hangs out in a Petro station for the night. All of us took in the $7.99 buffet and a Van Damme flick playing in the trucker’s lounge. Yes, we feasted on a steady diet of Jean Claude Van Damme, Christopher Lambert, and Dolf Lundgren- only the finest cinema for America’s hardest workingmen. Incidentally, most of the pictures from my whole driving experience were taken at this truck stop with Mike and me and the sims. It was a fun time and a relief from what I’d experienced in California. The situations were a bit more normal now. Hot showers were a bit more frequent. Perhaps things were getting better; this couldn’t be so bad, this was pretty cool. Then I went to bed.

The delivery went without a hitch the next morning. Mike showed me off in front of the others by allowing me to do all the backing maneuvers, which I performed nearly flawlessly. This put us both in a good mood and further squelched the doubts I had concerning the decision to pursue this career. The lingo was naturally flowing from my lips; the balding head, goatee and rotund midsection were part of my uniform. I was talking the talk and walking the walk, and everyone knew it! If this was indeed a brotherhood as the teachers at trucking school had said, then I was ready to learn the secret handshake.

We celebrated with another buffet and got our next assignment. Mike was always looking for the next haul, especially something to get him closer to Houston. Apparently Safeway had some old payroll records in a warehouse in Downtown Philadelphia that they needed in Phoenix. The tonnage wasn’t going to pay well, but suited us just fine. Driving in the west, especially west of the Mississippi River, is a lot different than in the east. There’s more room, less traffic. Besides, I’d never been to Philly and wanted to be in a place where so much national history had taken place. I wanted to tell all my friends that I’d eaten a real gooey Philly cheese steak sandwich, not some micro waved soy product on a bun from Jack-in-the-Box.

Mike let me drive the short distance from Ft. Dix to Philadelphia. He wanted to see how I handled the truck in a congested area. I did well until we got to the outskirts. Philadelphia is an old city, a fact that poses interesting challenges for anyone driving anything larger than a Suburban. All the streets are narrow, the interstates too, clearance for bridges and such are lower and people are far, far more cutthroat about their space in the lanes. Horns! People use their car horns in the northeast as a natural form of communication. And the communication is usually negative. AND most of the communication would be directed at me.

Mike made sure to point these things out while I was driving, not before hand. My earlier confidence was waning. It’s hard to tell if he was enjoying my discomfort or just trying to put me at ease by smiling a lot. Probably both. It’s when we get to Liberty Square that things go wrong. The directions to the warehouse had come in on the sat-link, but were a little unclear about exact street names. We knew 16th St. ran mostly north and south but there were two streets with similar names that intersected 16th St., both north of downtown. Our haul was waiting at 16th and Huntingdon, but we had directions to 16th and Huntington. Even the people Mike stopped and yelled to on the street were confused. I end up driving back into New Jersey twice, paying tolls both ways, before Mike and my own exasperation took over.

He finally pulls the rig down an incredibly narrow street in front of the warehouse at 5:30 PM. Warehouses in this part of town aren’t open past four in the afternoon. There’s a reason for that. We ring the buzzer anyway. Nothing. We’d have to wait until morning to get loaded up. And it was here, on the corner of 16th and Huntingdon in downtown Philadelphia that I spent the strangest night of my life.

(To be continued…)

Groan

Currently, I have close to a pound of salted meat in my belly, a half pound of sharp cheddar cheese, 1/3 a container of cashew nuts, 2 pickled sausages, and 4 Dr. Peppers. And I’ve only just finished Episode I… THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BEST NO PANTS DAY EV-ER!

The only thing I can’t figure out is where that rancid smell in the living room is coming from, is it me or the meat? Time will tell.

Me and Muslim Mike in the City of Brotherly Love (part 1)

So I left Crazy Tony at a Pilot truck stop in Carlisle, PA, headed home for Houston with a Cuban immigrant named Miguel. He spoke a clean enough English for the two of us to get along and certainly didn’t mind my desire to get south just as fast as we could.

I’d love to say the trip was uneventful, but there were a few snags. Word of advice: If you’re ever driving a big rig in Virginia and feel the need to pee, hold it for the next truck stop. Do not pull into any little town with a gas station; you will tie up traffic. In Hammond, LA there was a miscommunication with Miguel and I ended up locking us out of the truck at the gas pump. Thankfully, there was a driver near by who’d seen this happen before and for twenty bucks showed us the way to break back in. And of course, there was TS Alicia to contend with. The wind was all they said it would be on the training videos in trucker school, sheets of rain pounding everything on the freeway mercilessly. If it weren’t for the trees along the way, I would have seen where the lightning was striking the ground. Cars were lining up in my wake, drivers flashing their headlights to let me know they were there. Miguel kept shouting from the bunk, “Don’t use the Jake brake! Don’t use the Jake brake!” Greasy street rat! Of course I wasn’t using it, not in that rain! I could have choked him except my white knuckled death-grip was already engaged on the steering wheel. We pushed through the outer bands of the storm and made it to Houston in time to take the full brunt of it all. I didn’t care. I think a month had passed since I’d traveled in a car, the sensation was odd, but mom and dad were glad to have me back.

I was in town long enough to make a trip up to Wichita Falls and see my brother Charles. Mom and sister caught a stomach virus along the way making the hot eight hour trip all the more pleasant. I drove, of course. Charles was surprised to see us, even more so me, since he’d been told that I was still out in California. I told him how the news of his forthcoming nuptials softened the bad strangeness of my time there. He laughed and said I’d have to explain that to him some time. We went bowling, ate at a funky Chinese buffet, and talked all we could for the few hours we had to spend together. By the time we left, I wasn’t feeling good. When we got back to Houston I called my dispatcher to let him know I was ill and wouldn’t be available for a few more days. He said that was fine since my new trainer was still two or three days out west of San Antonio and wanted time with his family when he got home anyway. Home for my new trainer was on the west side of Houston. The storm damage and flooding wasn’t nearly as bad there as on the east side where my family once was.

A few days pass and I get a call from a guy with a strange accent telling me to meet him at the truck stop near I-10 and Hwy 146 around 6 AM the next morning. Oh, and he was my new trainer by the way. I was almost done with the ravages the stomach virus had visited upon me, Gatorade and ginger ale had seen to that. I packed my bags a little heavier this time as the experiences with Crazy Tony had taught me much. I was sure to include all my CDs too, not just the rock and roll. Dad and mom got me there around six as requested, but no one from any of the lines I drove for was there yet. We waited, using the time as a long drawn out good-bye. I was more than ready to go when a huge, green Peterbilt truck with FFE decals all over it finally pulled in for fuel. Enter Muslim Mike.

From the start, I thought he was French. Mike was blonde haired, blue eyed, had slightly reddened puffy cheeks and stood about 5’6” tall. He could have been a classic pudgy Irishman too I suppose, but for the accent. I just couldn’t place the accent. He was friendly enough however, and welcomed me into the cab with genuine warmth and concern for my well-being. Apparently the dispatcher told him I’d been sick. But illness aside, it was a much better start to the journey ahead than Tony provided. Our first load together was sitting in Port Arthur, to be taken to Newark. I’d never been to New Jersey and was looking forward to it.

Over the next week, Mike made it his mission to teach me all he could about the business of trucking. Yes, there’s more to it than just driving the truck. Map planning and time management is heavily involved if you want success. I think he found in me a willing student who took what he had to say seriously. After all, the man was making nearly $80,000 a year with no formal education. Hell, there are people today with college degrees that don’t make that much! Apparently some of his previous trainees were less willing to hear him out. I also liked the hole-in-the-wall places we’d eat at.

At the end of the first week, Mike finally asked me, “So, have you guessed it yet?”

‘Guessed’ what, Mike?

“My accent, where I’m from; have you guessed it yet?”

Admittedly, I hadn’t given the topic much thought after day two. By then I was used enough to the way he spoke. He was French anyway, right?

“French? You think I’m French?” He asked with a laugh. “Why do you all think I’m French?”

I told him he looked the part. Besides, I’d never met a Frenchman before and with his accent…

“I’m Syrian! From the Middle East! Have you ever met a Syrian before?”

Of course I hadn’t or maybe I’d have figured him out sooner. Turns out, like Tony with his age and wife, Mike enjoyed playing little games with his new trainees too- only it was far, far less creepy. He was born in Syria, was a Muslim, and came from a family with money, however with the political climate over there, the government seized much of what they had. His wife was eight years younger than he; their marriage was arranged. She was a member of the Syrian Orthodox Church. They had three daughters and a nice, two-story house there in Houston. I eventually got to meet them all and see the house, but that’s another story. He told me his real first and last names, both of which I couldn’t pronounce then and can’t remember now. “Muslim Mike” stuck in my head well enough, though I was sure not to use the nickname around him lest he think it disrespectful. I liked the guy, there was no need for bruised feelings.

(to be continued…)

Y-Y-YABBA-DABBA-DO-O-O!!

Well, got the first three chapters of the research paper finalized and turned in to the teacher. That's a huge load off the old shoulders. Yep, feeling good now! Feelin' spry and loosey-goosey! Why, I can even touch my toes - imagine that! Now all I have to do is the actual experiment and conclusion, both of which I could readily fake, but somehow my conscience won't allow it. No matter. The end is near, and soon I'll be sending out graduation notices. It's about time I sent out something. I usually get wedding announcements or baby arrivals in the mail.

I might also have the house to myself this weekend, and since Episode III has finally come out, I can finally have THE ULTIMATE NO PANTS DAY!! Yes! It'll be just me, two 1.5 lb. summer sausages, a huge block of greasy yellow cheese the size of my head, a cold twenty-four pack of Dr. Pepper, my favorite pair of boxer shorts and the complete STAR WARS ANTHOLOGY! I guess my dog should be included in there somewhere, but then again, I may put him outside with food and water. He's a good dog, no need to letting him see me in such a state.

Ah, what a week!

Well, the two job situation hasn't killed me yet, but the pay isn't turning out to be what I'd hoped. Got an email from my buddy Dawson the other day, anouncing the much anticipated bachelor party for our friend Brian or "the Stepchild" as we like to call him. It won't be until March, around St. Patty's Day. Guess I've got time to save up money and get my affairs in order! Hedonism, pure hedonism, what won't we do? I've met the Stepchild's fiance; she's a nice girl, seems to compliment him well. By now she knows what she's getting into- Godspeed to them both! Another buddy getting married... yikes!

Almost finished with my research project for school. Ironically, my topic of research is job satisfaction. I'm waking up in about six hours to go clean toilets and vacuum floors, not much satisfaction to be had there. And the things one learns when cleaning a women's restroom... Oh well, it helps Sam out and he needs all the help he can get right now. There's some intrinsic fulfillment there.

I'm in the middle of a Biblical perspectives course at school. The book we're studying, besides the Bible, is a secular-leaning work meant to describe biblical accounts as literature. I don't care for it, but it has got my mind revisiting old thoughts and feelings I haven't faced in some time. More of that pesky "fear thing" that I hate about myself so much. I'd forgotten about how much I liked reading the Bible in the first place, even more so discussing it with other people. Turns my mind toward the work I used to do at the church when I was younger. Turns my mind toward Kentucky, where I probably should have gone to school instead of staying here. But I can't say that with any certainy either. There're people here who've made the stay worth while and Lessons learned that couldn't be taught anywhere else. I guess we'll know if this was the right thing to do soon enough. I took the ticket; I'm on the ride.

Olde tyme feelin'

"I got a good old soul,

it's just got a few dings."

- Mike McClure

Went to church this Sunday for the first time since I care to admit. I liked it. My buddy Dave from class (not the cannon guy) invited me and Vickie from work let me go in the middle of my shift. I was cleaning toilets anyway, who'd care right? Funny how I avoid good things for so long just to realize how much I needlessly missed out on when I finally come around to my senses. The people there sang old hymns out of the books and said shouted "Amen!" when the preacher said somehting good. And he said a lot of good about the Uniqueness of Christ and read I Tim. 2:1-6 from the King James Bible. I'm partial to the NASB myself; still got a copy Matt gave me a few years ago. The whole time felt Right though, and my brother Charles agreed. That he'd be up and prepared to go to some stranger's church on a football Sunday at 10AM was evidence enough to me that the Lord was at work. And when I came home from school this evening, there was a door hanger from the church saying how they were sorry we weren't home when they stopped by to visit, but that they'd be back later. Hopefully I'll be here then. I might just go again this Sunday. Maybe this is what I've been needing for awhile. Maybe I knew it was and got tired of fighting. Maybe the prayers of those who're better than me are finally coming around. Maybe.