Freight seemed to pick up on the east coast, and Shelly, my new lead dispatcher, convinced me to camp out there while the getting was good.
"East coast is where the money is, hun. You take a load out of Amarillo to Charleston, South Carolina for me, then I'll have you working the piers between Baltimore and Norfolk. That cool," she said, as she would regulate me to running containers out of the ports in those locations.
I wasn't the biggest fan of pulling the 20 to 45 foot steel boxes hauled in via ships that crossed the Atlantic, as working in the ports tended to be an unnecessary hassle.
"You'll be working with broker companies, doing a lot of the drop and hooks as their local guys will do the in and outs of the ports," she said. "Can you help me out Wayne?"
Shelly didn't lie, and for that I'd come through for her as she always came through for me. I got unloaded in Charleston, then took a light load from Columbia, South Carolina to the Norfolk area, and dropped my trailer at one of the broker's yards, then continued by hustling containers. I'd end up loving it, as I ran up and down I-95 a lot between New Jersey and the southern tip of North Carolina, running into old, and new faces, drivers mainly, at numerous places.
"You've been through here four times this week. I know you ain't in love with our cheddar biscuits," said Herman.
"So you choose to put my business all in the street," I joked, as he and his crew laughed.
Herman was the manager of a food joint that was attached to a truck stop just north of Baltimore, as I ran a few boxes from that port up to Trenton, New Jersey a few times and would stop at his establishment. He gave me shit in his native Maryland drawl, stretching out the "u" sound in many of his words as I could tell he was looking to befriend me.
"I've seen your pretty ass truck pull into the lot and my eyes blew up," he said, referring to my tractor.
I thanked him on this particular day as he was working the register while talking trash, showing his gapped smile on that nice, brown bear body of his.
"I been wanting a nice crab cake. You know where to find one," I asked.
"Tell you what: you coming through here Friday," he asked. "If so, I'll treat you to one of the best that Maryland has to offer.
"Hell, I want one now," I said with laughter, as he had my mouth watering.
I'd leave with the biscuits, nodding goodbye to everyone, then heading back to the truck to drive to the yard with a biscuit hanging out of my mouth, gnawing on the cheesy goodness before unhooking my trailer at the yard, then bobtailing back to the truck stop as I planned to spend the night. I parked, cut the engine, then made a bag of toiletries and clean clothes as I wanted to take a shower and slumber. I walked across the lot and back into the establishment as he was chatting with the cashiers, getting ready to exit.
"Damn trucker, you came back quicker than I thought," he said to me.
"Well, I'm ready for them crab cakes," I said with a chuckle.
"Hell, I'm hungry right now. You wanna go out and get one," he asked.
I looked down at my bag, then him as I was tad reluctant.
"Come on. Hell, I'll bring you back for a shower. Come enjoy a meal with me," he said, as he would bid adieu to his workers, and we'd talk through the double doors together.
We climbed into his Nissan Pathfinder and started chatting, as he offered free room and board for the night.
"You got any freight lined up for tonight or tomorrow," he asked.
"I don't. Taking a break tomorrow," I said, as we headed south towards Baltimore.
We'd make it into the city, getting off the interstate and making some wrong turns into some neighborhoods until he had us near Camden Yards, then the harbor. We rode past the seafood restaurant known for its crab cakes as it faced the water, and would be lucky enough to find a parking spot nearby.
"Hey Herman. This is all nice of you and all, especially since we don't know each other. That being said, can we get our food to go," I asked.
He'd agree, as we'd get out of the vehicle and walk a few steps into the place that had a wonderful smelling haze in our vicinity. We went inside the crowded establishment and ordered our food to go, as a few minutes later the waiter handed me a bag that felt like it was 15 lbs. heavy, containing two white boxes with a red crab logo on each. We walked out and into Herman's ride, then sped back towards the interstate to head north, getting off at an exit in Timonium. We went a few blocks into the quiet town, and pulled into his driveway that bordered his two story home in a sleepy, All-American like neighborhood.
"Stark contrast to the city, or hell, the truck stop," I said to him.
"Stark contrast indeed. We gotta be quiet though, the girlfriend's a nurse, and might be asleep after a long shift," he said.
We got out of the SUV and headed to the front door, me carrying my bag as we entered a dark house. He gave me a slight tour of his four bedroom home, showing me the guest room where I'd stay located on the first floor, equipped with its own private bathroom, and just a few steps from the kitchen and dining room. I'd get settled, take a shower and put on a t-shirt and shorts as my official night clothing. I headed back to the living room, where he was watching television.
"You smell good. Wanna beer," he asked.
I said, yes, and he came back with two Miller Lite longnecks for each of us, as sports highlights played.
"Hey man, so do you run out here often out of the port, or you go everywhere," he asked as he popped our tops.
I explained that I was running as a borrowed driver, and that I chose to go regional as it was an increase in truck pay. I went further to explain the nuances of trucking, as he mentioned he worked at the truck stop for over 20 years, but never figured out the intricacies that came with the industry.
