Today marks the end of my first month as an on the road
expediter and I have to say this is the most bizarre job I have ever had. In
many ways it is both the most difficult and easiest job of any I have held.
Allow me to elaborate further: with many jobs, you tend to be doing the same
tasks over and over again repetitively on a weekly basis. As an expedite
trucker, my job is always changing. The route I take, the hours, the load, the
scenery. It never stays the same. In my first week alone I took loads from
Indiana to Illinois, Oklahoma to California, and then back to Indiana and to
Ohio. This month I have gone over the Appalachian mountains, the Grapevine, the
Sierras, and through the Mojave desert through Salt Lake City. I drove through
decrepit towns, thriving cities, rolling gold hills, beautiful mountains, and
we even got stuck on the George Washington Bridge in New York for two and a
half hours.
I have hauled car parts, toxic paint, light fixtures, shoes,
and even a 15 foot single 47 lb tube half way across the country. I remember
that last one the best because of the absurdity of it. We got paid very well to
rush that seemingly unimportant small thing across the states.
The best thing about this job aside from getting to travel
is the opportunity I have been given to spend with my Dad. All my life he has
been a somewhat enigmatic figure. He was always working and we saw him
sparingly. When I was younger, he worked nights and slept during the day. In
more recent years, he was home more often, but I don't remember a time where I
spent more than 72 hours with him. I feel as though I have gotten to know him
more and he has gotten to know me a little better perhaps. Every day there
seemed to be a moment of "Oh I didn't know you something..." in some
regard. A song or type of food, what movies I have never seen or what books I
have read that he might like. It has been wonderful. But there have been
moments. He told me beforehand "Just
warning you, I am going to yell at you at some point." It wasn't threat,
he just has a temper. I understood this and equally warned him, "Alright,
but I'm going to warn you as well. I am going to cry." Just as he
struggles to control his temper, I struggle to control my emotions.
All in all I am glad to be back home, among familiar
buildings, and back in my own room with my own thing, and able to spend time
with my family and see friends. It feels strange to be gone for a month and
return as if you were never gone. Nothing bad so much as I am very much
reminded of the things that are most important to me.
