I think that anyone who earns a living doing this should be accountable. Even so, Americans are right to be paranoid, NQ. Maybe not as paranoid as you, but Big Brother is watching...
I posted this thing elsewhere, but now I think I'll add it here for better circulation.
I'm a member of a web-based group called "THE STOVEBOLT PAGE", dedicated to the preservation of old GM trucks. My pseudonym, there as here, is Hotshoe. This is a response I wrote a year or two ago to a thread started by '64Buffalo, another member. It was to be a short anecdote, but then it kinda ran away. Read on...
'64Buffalo got me thinking with his post called MY NIGHT IN JAIL. He had a similar experience to one of mine, with a benevolent cop:
"I did spend the night in a cell with a comfortable bed."
What follows is my own parallel story. I swear every golden word is true!
I was in High Prairie, AB during a howling blizzard one time around 30 years ago, sleeping off the zero-visibility weather in the sleeper berth of my Freightliner. The 8V71 was screaming under me (you don't shut 'em off in that weather if you want to drive 'em again before spring) and the coolant temperature was barely 140F, while inside the cab - what with the crosswind and all - was somewhere below freezing with all 3 heaters blowing full blast. I was curled up in a ball under everything I had, shivering, until the cop stopped to see if I was alive. To foreshorten the story, read the quote from '64 above. Cop left the door open and the coffee pot full. Good cop.
A flip side exists to this happy story, though, and this is gonna be a long one, so settle in. Not so many years after that first event I was a long-distance truck driver hauling hydroelectric generator parts from Montreal, PQ to someplace in California - Tulare, I think - and had the misfortune of travelling through Missouri. 3 times. You can't really get around that state on that haul without going at least 100 miles out of your way, and the first time I didn't know any better. So, upon entering the state I bought the 3 or 4 permits I believed would get me compliant with the laws of the jurisdiction through which I was passing - rendering unto Caesar, so to speak - and rolled blissfully out of St Louis on I-44 east towards Joplin, MO. Okay. About 35 miles out, somewhere around Union, MO, there's a truck inspection station and weigh scale. Now, attendance to these things is not optional when they're open. Being as I was - a safe, professional truck driver with a strong sense of mission (you ex-service guys know what I mean) - I had no problem with law enforcement. Or at least, that is how I thought until that day, somewhere around 20 years ago. What I did not know was that anyone not from Missouri was considered by local law enforcement officers to be a foreigner and, therefore, subject to special attention. What I mean is, if you were from Kansas City, Kansas, and not Kansas City, Missouri, you were officially "not one of us", and subject to, etc.
I was from Canada. It said so right on my truck, and my driver's license said British Columbia. One of the, ah, officers expressed interest in why a South American was driving a Canadian truck in Those Great United States. I made the mistake of ridiculing his knowledge of geography; I still thought, at that point, that I was communicating with a person. It was then that several of them began to fidget with their holster flaps. Fair guess is that not a one of the boys I met that day could actually find Canada on a globe, but that is another subject. People from Canada, wherever it was, clearly were a target. Especially those who didn't show the proper respect for the Law, personified.
I was arrested and taken to jail that day for violating some kind of Public Utilities Commission law about which, to that point, I had no knowledge. The fine for that offence, if I was found guilty, would have been $150.00. Some hours later I was released on bail in the amount of the fine, and ordered to appear before someone on a date about a month in the future. It was explained to me that if I did not appear, I would automatically be found guilty and the bail I had paid would be forfeit to someplace.
Right, then. I didn't like it, but I understood the words. Off I went to California.
I had contracted to do several of those loads from Lachine, Quebec (near Montreal) to a new dam in Cali. It's all coming back to me as I write. A load of glass from Lathrop, California got me home to Vancouver BC, then another load of lumber to Buffalo, NY. A short hop back across the border to Lachine. The loads from there consisted of dozens of crates of different sizes, which had to be assembled to fit on my old 40' deck, blocked and tied and tarped up. Took most of a full day each time, then at the end of the day(shipping)shift I'd roll out for Detroit/Windsor, which was where the Customs documents directed me to cross. 600 miles, I think, and the crossing was scheduled for the next morning, first thing.
Let me go back a bit and tell you something else about the first trip, so that Missourians don't think I'm slagging them as a people. The only Missourians I know are the ones I've met on this board - salt of the earth, all - and the LEO's, for whom aggressive stupidity seems(to me) to be a hallmark. I am certain that there are exceptions, but I did not have the pleasure of encountering one. Anyway, when I arrived for the first load at Lachine, I discovered a uniqely Canadian brand of cultural bias. I have since learned a bunch about this, but at that time I was still wet behind the ears(enough to tease a heavily-armed armed idiot with a badge) and, while I knew that a lot of Quebecois' first language was a dialect of French, I knew also that Canada's other official language was English. And as my familiarity with the French language was European and sparse, I made the mistake of assuming that I would be able to communicate effectively in English. Well. Again, to foreshorten what could become a very long story, I'll tell you this: It took me 3 days to load in that place the first time. What offended me the most was that during these 3 days, two American-registered trucks came in, loaded and rolled in good time. Their drivers spoke no French. I was driving a Canadian-registered truck. I know now that I should have started by learning to say, "Bonjour. Je suis desolee, mais je parle seulement un petit peu de la vraie langue. Can we continue in English, s'il vous plait?" If I had done that, they would have appreciated my effort to show respect, found my atrocious accent(best I can do, even today) almost unintelligible, and been(no doubt) pleased to help in any way they could, including the extraordinary measure of speaking the hated language. I know now that they saw me as another arrogant Anglo, and treated me accordingly.
This is how it is to be a cultural stranger.
So the next time, having learned my lesson, the loading went swimmingly. But then I went back through Missouri. Everything as before, but I had learned my lesson, I thought. I bought all the permits I needed in St Louis at the truck stop, and thoroughly inspected the tractor, semitrailer and the load, just as I do every day. Rolled over that scale with a new and improved attitude, secure in the belief that I was completely compliant, and would be inspected and released by some appropriately impressed coppers.
Wrong.
I was arrested and taken to jail that day for a safety violation about which, to that point, I had no knowledge. My leaf-sprung semitrailer had 11-leaf, clamped spring clusters on all 4 corners of the tandem bogey(axle group). The 7th leaf on one of the clusters was cracked. It looked like a brand-new crack. I doubt that I would have missed it in my daily pretrip inspection, but if I had, I could have kept driving that way for a month, maybe, without any ill effect: they were clamped. No matter. I was cuffed and stuffed. The fine for that offence, if I had been found guilty, would have been $150.00. Some hours later I was released on bail in the amount of the fine, and ordered to appear before someone on a date about a month in the future. It was explained to me that if I did not appear, I would automatically be found guilty and the bail I had paid would be forfeit to someplace. Sound familiar?
So then I went to California again. A load of kitty litter got me home that time, and then more lumber to Buffalo, NY. Same-same again, and this time in St Louis you can bet I went over everything with a fine-tooth comb. Everything. For hours, I think, and in the process I did a thorough cleaning on the inside of my tractor's cab, along with all the laundry at the truck stop's domestic facility, folding it neatly and placing it at the foot of my bed. As ready as I'd ever be, I fervently believed, I again rolled across that same scale.
I was arrested and taken to jail that day for something far more stupid than I would ever have believed possible: I had not made my bed. The fine for that offence, if I was found guilty, would have been $150.00, et cetera.
I know this one bears some explaining. When I lost control and started laughing at them - this was after they told me about the offense, but before I knew they were serious - things got very tense, very quickly. In a move that was clearly choreographed, the two furthest away from me moved away from each other, drew their sidearms and held them in the Weaver "ready" stance. A third picked up a microphone. That is when I knew I had a problem.
Let me explain the mechanics of this thing step by step, so that the uninitiated among us can understand how someone could be arrested at gunpoint and put in jail for not making his bed. In the United States, commercial Transports which cross state lines fall under the jurisdiction of the Interstate Commerce Commission, and are required to comply with hundreds, perhaps thousands of regulations aimed at keeping roads safe and taxes paid. Among these, truckers are required to keep accurate, up-to-date records(logbooks)of their activities, and the method of keeping these records(and the activities)must also be compliant. Truckers are required to produce these logbooks on demand by law enforcement personnel. They cannot, however, be compelled to surrender them for inspection without a warrant. Most drivers don't know this, and I was no exception. When they asked for my logbook, I - ignorant of my right to refuse - handed it over.
In the logbook each page signifies a calendar day. There are 4 duty status columns, marked 1)off duty, 2)sleeper berth, 3)on duty/not driving, and 4)on duty/driving. Each of these columns is broken into 24 hours, in 1/4 hour increments. The driver is required to draw a line across the page in each duty status column as it applies, and these entries must be current to the last change-of-duty status.
Mine was, of course. There is a number of other details which must be kept current, complete, legible and accurate in these logbooks, and mine was PERFECT in every detail.
By that time I knew what fertile ground a logbook was for a zealous protector of the public interest. I had already paid some thousands of dollars in fines over the years by way of being "taught a lesson". But for some reason, NOT ONE OF THE ISSUING OFFICERS, ANYWHERE, HAD EVER FELT THE NEED TO INFORM ME THAT I COULD NOT LEGALLY BE COMPELLED TO SURRENDER MY LOG TO THEM FOR INSPECTION and so, every time I did this, by law I was doing it voluntarily. Imagine how I felt on finding THAT tidbit out! The reason for all these regulations is clear and simple:The Interstate Commerce Commission(ICC)mandate is to ensure accountability; that commerce is not carried out in an unsafe manner. In these duty status columns a trucker must testify that he is getting enough rest, for example.
But, to get back to my narrative. Upon carefully inspecting my logbook, the scale tender discerned that I had logged time in my sleeper berth the night before. Earlier - having asked permission - another had inspected the inside of my cab(looking for evidence of drugs or other contraband, he said) and detected the fact that my bed was not made. You may recall that earlier that day I had done my laundry and my bedding was folded neatly at the foot of my bed. How can these innocuous facts be in any way significant, you may ask? Well, I'll tell you. According to ICC regulations, in order to log time in the "sleeper berth" column of one's log book, one's vehicle must be equipped with "a sleeper berth, a mattress and a full complement of bedding laid out in such a way that it is ready to be used". Yes. In Missouri, that means your bed has to be made. The fine for not having made my bed, if I had been found guilty, would - as usual - have been $150.00. As usual, I was arrested and taken to jail and ordered to appear before someone on a date about a month in the future. It was - as ususal - explained to me that if I did not appear, I would automatically be found guilty and any bail I paid would be forfeit to someplace. Bail was set, as usual, in the amount of the fine.
Again, I lost control. I decided to myself that any society which would imprison someone for a month for the crime of not making his bed, regardless of the circumstances, deserved whatever it got. I resolved right there to go to trial, and refused to pay the bail. It was explained to me again that if I could not(or did not)pay the bail, I would be held in that jail until the trial. I, having temporarily lost the capacity for displaying respect, retorted that I had understood this perfectly well the first three times, understood it no less this time, and that I was certain I had been in worse places in my service life than anywhere they could put me(remember High Prairie, AB?). And now, having been in custody for some hours past my lunchtime, I demanded to be fed. I was: A soggy waffle, not hot, not warm. No butter, no syrup. I asked the guard, who acknowledged that Missouri WAS the "show me" state, what, exactly, he thought he was showing me now. He had the good grace to look embarrassed. Not long afterwards, my employer, having gotten wind of the fact that his load was tied up, bailed me out against my will.
I have not returned to Missouri since that time. Oh, I want to, though. For two reasons. Anyplace I've been which is populated by savages like the ones I met in that place near Union, MO, has also conversely been populated by some very good people. I'd like to see them, to reassure myself of God's plan. The other is perverse: I want to roll over that scale one more time, in the full knowledge of my rights, prepared to assert them with a concealed transmitter linked to a recording device inaccessible to those people.
ruthrader said, "I read your comments with great interest, Porcelindoll."
So did I. I had exactly the same shimmy problem on my Volvo, and after flinging a large amount of money at the problem it remained. Not all the time, and not bad, mostly, but there were times... I changed out everything it might have been, eventually. Or so I thought. Eventually there was nothing left to check but the spacer blocks between the front springs and the axle. Guess what? I hate Volvos now. It is a good truck, everything works fine now, smooth, quiet, happy. Incidentally, it also now has an entirely new exhaust system from the manifold and turbo to the top of the (now single) muffler. Sound familiar? What the he*l happened to the days when one thing at a time would break or wear out?
We truck owners would rather eat broken glass than spend that kind of money on our truck, but safe is safe. Now, I am pretty not bad at diagnostics after 30 years in this game. I absolutely hate changing parts until a problem goes away, but this rotten truck has taught me that it is sometimes the only way!
"Do the words criminal negligence creep up around this discussion?" I don't think so, but sometimes a driver has to say, no! The final responsibility always rests with the driver in a significant screwup and your job, Porcelindoll, is to keep the shiny side up and the dirty side down. If your employer won't work with you to this effect, find one who will.
NQ, having read your initial post on this subject, let me put a question to you, with all due respect. You said, "It seems if a woman is going to shate a cab with a man, she has already almost said yes." Well, now! Let's put aside the typographical error for the moment. What, then, if you were to share a cab with a sodomite? You had better believe that not all men think like you do.
Women are people. Women drivers are drivers. Good or bad. The issue you have is generated by the fear of your own limited competence, I think. "Do not climb in the cab unless you want to give it up." Really? Come here, little man. It's not the way I swing, really, but if there's a dominance issue to be addressed, well... I'm a bit short on political correctness myself, as you would see.
No. I would prefer to judge you as a driver on your driving skills. Man or woman, doesn't matter. I don't actually want to get into your head, but if you were to insist, a situation might arise in which some folks would find out what it's like in there. Ew.
Yep. Until then troll the lumber yards, drywall suppliers and anywhere else you see trucks. Tell 'em you'll handle a grease gun, forklift or whatever else they need. Get close to trucks for a while. Then get in one. Edited by hotshoe36 on Sep 16, 2008 at 09:04 AM
Stvie? Strange name. I should talk, though. I'm near Vancouver BC. Don't know your situation, but when you are ready to make a move, get hold of me at hotshoe36@hotmail.com If you are qualified, I'll give you a try. I have a heavy-haul job on and near the Sea to Sky highway. Mark
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