Time seems to be moving fast now. I ended my third week at the school on Thursday by doing a pretty good 90 degree alley dock backing maneuver, then driving the full rig (with my instructor in the right seat and a couple of classmates sitting on the sleeper bed/couch) twenty miles down I-75 to Monroe. There I pulled into a truck stop and into a fuel bay between two other trucks. I felt right at home diving that truck. A little nervous, but I would have been worried if I hadn't been. What a BLAST!
We have next week to hone our skills before taking our CDL tests. I'm scheduled for 11am Friday. Now, thinking about that raises my blood pressure.
My classmates have turned out to be a really great bunch. We all seem to like each other and there's a lot of friendly joshing all around. No assholes in the bunch. Nobody even acting like one. The school is surely a bonding experience. We're all concerned about one of the guys who is very tight, thinking too much; easily gets down on himself. We give him all the encouragement and moral support we can. Actually, that goes on among us all because we are all crushing our share of cones now and then. And worse.
As good as the week ended, it started out rocky for your reporter. I had just finished a backing maneuver in the lot, and had gotten the truck rolling when one of the instructors called out something to me. I stepped on the brake, but not the clutch (I had just gotten out of a smaller truck with automatic transmission--not a very good excuse) and immediately the engine lugged and the truck bucked a couple of times before I could react). My head in my hand, I thought, "Shit!, I've broken the fucking truck." Sure enough, the ring gear in the diff lost a couple of teeth. But...the instructor didn't freak out or shame me. He said, "Hey, don't worry about it. Shit happens. These are old trucks. Shake it off, man." My classmates were equally supportive (VERY glad it hadn't been them). I was still shaken and a little hangdog, but I eventually came out of it, mostly because I started getting good-natured ribbing from my mates that continued all week (and will continue, I'm sure). In fact, I was out on the road with another truck on Tuesday, when the driver's side convex mirror that had been a bit loose finally loosened enough from vibration and started swinging below its normal position. I tried to swear the other guys in the truck to secrecy, but that didn't go anywhere. A fresh round of crap ensued, of course. It was really funny.
Wednesday of this week, we had a "career day" at the Western Branch of WCCC, where we heard from seven recruiters who all want us to come to work for their companies. I particularly liked U.S. Xpress. You've seen the trucks...red tractors with red lettering on white trailers. There was one of the four flatbed companies we heard from that I also liked--big new shiny black Peterbilt tractors with leather seats and all the bells and whistles. The thing with that kind of work, though, is that the driver is fully responsible for tarping and tying down the loads. The tarps weigh 80-100 pounds. In my road warrior haze I thought, "I can do that." But, when I talked to my instructor about it, she said, "No offense, Joel, but maybe you shouldn't take that on at this point in your life." Nicely put. However, later in the day as we were tooling down I-75, she asked me if I'd mind wearing a suit in a job. My mind had fun with that image for a second. Then she said she rarely suggests this opportunity to students, but she thought it might work for me. Apparently Park West Galleries has a fleet of trucks that haul vans with art exhibits in them. The driver parks it then, kind of like James Bond who pulls off a jump suit to reveal a finely tailored tux, he puts on a suit and becomes the greeter. Perfect for me, or what?! That's all I know about it. She will give me an app on Monday. I don't want to think about it too much.
OK, I've found the digital camera. I promise pictures not later than Tuesday.
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