Business was booming since my time with Rip, and with my professional reputation, the world was my oyster as the dispatchers made sure that whatever freight I wanted, and wherever I wanted to go, I got.
"That means more on-time deliveries, and happier customers to keep us employed," I told Shara, as we wheeled and dealed over the phone one Friday. "Keep me rolling, and I'll take care of the rest!"
Shara, my new dispatcher, epitomized this as she, too, was a trucker once, and loved the way I hustled across the map.
"Wayne honey, as long as your safety rating stays top notch, baby, I'll send you to the moon if you like," she said to me in response.
I saw a trend of freight moving on the east coast, as the shipping lanes from China seemed to widen as did the Panama Canal with ships going directly to the ports on that side of the country. I also was in the mood for some big, southern fried cock, or some arrogant northeasterner who'd rudely beat my pussy until I couldn't walk, so I requested freight for the east coast.
"I've got a load out of Kansas, going to Black Mountain, North Carolina. It's corn," she told me one Friday.
I'd just left Manhattan, Kansas as I delivered fruit to a college cafeteria, before darting from there to a corn harvest facility just outside of Topeka. The following Monday morning I was rolling to North Carolina with only 10,000 lbs. of corn due to the popcorn manufacturing warehouse no later than noon, the following Thursday afternoon. I made it to Candler, North Carolina, just outside of Black Mountain, noon Wednesday, busting ass on the road to be early in anticipation I'd be able to offload, and get another load elsewhere on the coast right after.
"Sir, you're early by 24 hours, and the plant is about to close for the day. There's a company function going on this afternoon," the gate guard told me.
I made it to the facility trying to offload, when the security guard, a short Latin guy named Jose, mentioned that even if he let me in the yard, I would have to unhook my trailer in a certain spot, then leave and stand by outside of the property to get a call to retrieve the unloaded trailer. I told him I didn't mind, for I had nowhere else to go, but he insisted he not let me on.
"I don't understand. I'm actually early. I'll park the damned trailer, man, and I'll camp out at the truck stop, or at some lot nearby," I told him.
Jose, who sported a New York accent, was adamant and rude, making me turn around and find a lot a mile away that housed an abandoned restaurant, for parking. I remained there, seething from the exchange that took place, before deciding to unhook my trailer, and go into a nearby Waffle House for a cup of coffee, and grub to go. I'd sit down in an empty restaurant, with the cooks all singing to whatever song was on the jukebox with their backs turned. The waitress took my order, then I pulled out my phone to scroll the apps and see what was on the real menu. I received a surprise not even two miles away in Jose, the security guard.
"Maybe if you were getting laid you wouldn't be so rude," I messaged to him.
I halfway expected him to block me as I scrolled to other profiles that turned out to be in the teens as far as miles away, but he answered.
"A lot of lip for a trucker who can't deliver today. Maybe I would've reconsidered if you offered to suck this hardened cock of mine," he responded.