But where was Gina Lolabrigida?

This morning I started my work week on foot.

This is not unusual.

Oh, the truck was there. And in reasonably good shape. But there wasn't a trailer attached. The people running the yard frown on leaving the tractor and the trailer hooked up unless you brought it in and you're taking it out. “How we gonna move that thing if you don't show up?” they say, or words to that effect. And I can't say I blame them.

So I gave the truck a quick once-over, checked my load assignment, and set out to find my trailer.

On foot.

This turned out to be a good thing.

When I found it, I found five others. Each with trucks attached. All trying to pull out of nearby parking spaces, at the same time. In different directions.

It looked like one of those Fifties comedies with an intersection full of Italian taxi drivers—none of whom will back up to let the others move. With lots of yelling in a foreign language.

Except our guys weren't yelling—even in English. They were professionals.

And they were actually making progress in getting past each other. Slowly.

I watched this for a minute or two. Then I went back to my truck and spent a few more minutes on my pre-trip inspection.

What the heck? I had the time...