CHAPTER 10
(Sell-A-Con)
January 27th, 2014
My recruiter's name was Carter Walley. The unemployment agency was coercing me to hang up my Wendy's apron and jump on a 20 hour Greyhound bus ride all the way out to Indianapolis IN where they didn't quite sweat the small stuff like they do in PA. In fact once you crossed into Ohio there were pretty much billboards everywhere advertising all sorts of gargantuan fireworks that clearly made my homemade squib look like nothing more than one of those little popper snappers they sell at the stores. As far as scenery wise, Indiana looked a lot like PA with all the farm land except they had more windmills and seemed to major in corn. I had duteously jumped onto their stinky Greyhound bus but was secretly one step ahead of this shady trucking outfit the entire time. I was one of those employees that ACTUALLY SAVED THE COMPANY HANDBOOK.
I was 32 years old and still running 5k runs and doing my 500 push-ups every other day. Not only did I stick out like a sore thumb compared to all the other big fat truckers but my piggy bank was much much further ahead of all those super truckers hounding the Celadon company for just one more cash advance to make it through the week. My father had explained to me all the unemployment rules and I can honestly say to this very day nearly five years later I am one of the very few that has NEVER cheated on my unemployment compensation. FlaggerForce meatheads were known for cheating all the time but I was never that foolish to burn a bridge like that.
Spencer Cohn had managed to take care of my light work with my UC appeal while all the way from Florida. But I was quickly learning the sinister side of the phalanx of witches working at the UC office in Harrisburg PA. Some girl named Erin managed to help me recoup a few weeks owed UC wages that the Queen in there tried to "pencil whip" me on. I'm still convinced to this day that they short chomped another $300 that I was just too lazy to fight for by making incessant phone calls to Harrisburg. And why would I really care? My car was paid off and I paid my car insurance annually. I had no kids to take care of and I was walking into the trucking industry with almost $15,000.00 ha ha. I was also skinny and cute! But I would learn over the years that million mile OTR (Over The Road) club would take care of all of that and make all that go away. Even the cuteness part would dissipate over time.
Evidently my recruiter Carter Walley was brought up right and taught to respect his elders. I had a good 5 years on him and was certain it might even be six or seven. People my age were already homeowners paying mortgages and here I was prancing around with boat loads of cold hard Cizash showing off my 32 inch waist. It was nice hanging out at their 4 star hotel and feeling independent for a day or two without mommy breathing down my neck. My mommy was no different than the clever little skinny witches at New Holland Library trying to be clever with hopes they could catch me looking at porn on their library computers. I'll never forget the time I was using their computer to job search and the snoopy older one got the bright idea sneak around to the book isle nobody ever visited and slightly spread the books apart to try and peek at what was on my computer screen. The short haired younger one was far too bright and intelligent to foresee me being that stupid by leaving an electronic trail of pornography for all the world to see and didn't play into the "snoopy" games like the older librarian witches.
Carter had a very sullen look on his face.
"You're seriously going home? But we PAID for you to come out here."
Celadon Trucking was a very big nationwide trucking company. Just standing next to my recruiter and his computer made me feel like I was in some kind of big NCIS movie.
There were computers EVERYWHERE and they had a huge live weather map on their wall the size of an IMAX theatre. It did indeed feel like stepping into a scene with Gabby at NCIS. As much as I liked hanging out here it was time to show off my indelible excuse card that I was sure to bring with me to Indy. I was nowhere close to exhausting my UC benefits and in no hurry to leave behind those comical 18 year old girls at Wendy's cracking smut jokes to each other like "Hey sista, you like a gas station you know why? Cuz your legs are ALWAYS open."
Why would I want to say goodbye to a gravy PT job at Wendy's with a nice big fat UC check on top of that to be bored and lonely out in the middle of nowhere in an 18 wheeler left smelling like an ashtray?
I plucked out the Wendy's company handbook that I had been hoarding up the entire time and proudly showed off the yellow highlighted section to my recruiter.
"What's this?" Asked Carter.
"This is the Wendy's company handbook." Carter was confused. "Okay so?"
I pointed to the yellow highlighted section. "It says here in the handbook that when separating from the company I am required to give not a two week but rather a three week notice."
Carter had a look on his face that he had just been played by an experienced con man. It was all I could do to keep from giggling. I was clearly protected by this writing from losing my UC benefits so darn soon. I was even convinced that was why I got recruited in the first place. Indiana was full of those red blooded "grab yourself by your bootstraps" Republicans that carped on the welfare population left and right. System Haters I always liked to refer to this John Deere crowd. Why couldn't I jump in a big rig when I was ready to go right after school two years ago? They wanted to recruit me now just to give Queen B in Harrisburg the satisfaction of stopping those good time payments? Shutdown my weekend trips to Hollywood Casino? I was no sucker to this nonsense.
Carter was still in shock. "Well why didn't you tell us before you jumped on our Greyhound?"
I was being completely honest. "You guys haven't technically hired me yet. I thought coming out here was merely an interview. Now I have to get back to Wendy's and give my three weeks notice."
Carter was a wee bit on the chunky side. I was not at all surprised when his blood pressure sky rocketed and his face turned red as a cherry.
"So why do you need to use my computer?" He finally said. "Oh, I just need to print out my plane ticket."
He got all on the fence with me. "Plane ticket? Celadon DOESN'T issue plane tickets! We do Greyhounds."
"I know." I said. "I already used my own credit card and smart phone to purchase a plane ticket back to PA."
"Well we can't reimburse you you know." "I know" I said.
I really didn't care one way or the other. I was a thrifty shopper and a couple flights to Vegas I was learning how constantly shopping around could save me hundreds on airline flights. I had found a one way plane ticket back to PA for only $99 and was proud of my purchase.
Carter's natural hue returned to his face when he realized the company wasn't stuck paying my way back to PA so I could kick it back at Wendy's and ride that good time boat for yet another three weeks. I was greatful to be a super fast meal eater because although the cafeteria meals at Celadon were superb, the cafeteria seating area had a nasty smell of straight up ass ingrained into each and every one of its seating arrangements. It was never a secret that those fat billybig riggers were notoriously known for "swamp ass" with all the unnecessary friction of fat down there. It was so easy to identify the "steak a day" million milers simply by counting the fat rolls on the backs of their necks. One fat roll equaled one million completed miles. Two fat rolls signified that two million miles of billybig rigging had been accomplished.
Any other recruiter probably would have told me to use the hotel computer to print my plane ticket but like I said earlier, Carter was one of those All American type brought up from good seed and taught to respect his elders. I was 32. I had him pegged as young as 25. Carter arose from his big boy chair and allowed me to use his computer to get into my email and print out my plane ticket. It didn't take me very long and I was already envisioning my StarBucks coffee at the airport. I love airports because the temperature always had to be just right and the food was always good. But what I liked most about hanging out at airports? Nobody knew who I was. I was never plagued with that paranoid thinking that I might encounter somebody knowing of my ding dong story in Chicago.
As I was folding up my plane ticket and stuffing it into my back pocket Carter had just one last thing to say.
"So then after three weeks you're coming back?"
I tried to suppress the thoughts of poo from my mind. Not only did their cafeteria smell like a poo factory but disheveled Celadon drivers were retaliating by literally spreading feces ALL OVER THE BATHROOM STALLS. And I'm not talking about little Mr. Hanky the Christmas poo from South Park streak marks. I'm talking some serious jailhouse style fecal decor!
I gave my recruiter an up-in-the-air look. "Of course I will be coming back."