Home Office knows best.

Looks like it's gonna rain again.

I'm in Georgia at the moment.* Seems like it's raining all over the world. Classical reference aside, it's comfortable enough. Right now, anyway,

I'm supposed to be spending some time at home, starting early Sunday morning. It's Thursday night, and I'm about a hundred miles from home. So of course they're sending me to Kentucky. Might as well get some more use out of me before they let me go, right? And it's only 3-400 miles. They'll just set me up with a load coming back this way, and I'll be home in plenty of time. No problem.

Cynical acquaintances might point to their track record over the past few months when I talk about getting home on time. Me, I'd scoff at such defeatism--I really don't think they're trying to keep me out here.

My doubts come from another direction. Perhaps the simplest way to explain would be to describe what happened after the diesel fuel thing I described in my last post.**

After I'd recovered from the embarrassment, I spent another hour or so getting to the town I was supposed to deliver in. Previously I had looked the map over; and I was pretty sure I knew where I was going.

This is not always the case. The big Road Atlases we carry don't have infinite detail--you can only show so much about 49 states (and some Canadian provinces) in a carry-able book. And the Company has its own notions about fuel-efficient routing. In this case they had me entering town from a different direction than the customer's directions called for,

Nothing new there. And the road the customer was on actually appeared on the map! State highways are so much easier to deliver to...

So I followed my directions like a good boy. Entered town from the east and turned north, instead of coming in from the north like those fuel-wasting locals wanted me to. Threaded my way through town and continued northward, past the school and the fire station and toward the railroad overpass.

The one marked "CLEARANCE 13' 3"."

Have I mentioned that a modern tractor-trailer is 13' 6" tall?

I glanced around quickly, saw a driveway that offered my only hope of escape, and expertly swung my vehicle up into the parking lot of a deserted market. No longer required to choose between blocking traffic or backing over it, I now had the time to meditate on the reason those fuel-wasting locals had wanted me to come in from the north.

The Company's fuel-efficient routes are laid out by computer. And the computer routes you from city to city. If I'd been delivering downtown, this would've been a great route. But I was delivering NORTH of the city. And I don't know if their program even knows about that bridge.

The locals obviously did, though. So...

The nice lady who answered the phone passed me on to a man who knew more about the roads. He called in a consultant.*** Between the three of us, we worked out a way around the low bridge that wouldn't require me to backtrack thirty miles or bulldoze through any residential neighborhoods.

Thus reassured, I found a way out of the parking lot and started once more toward the customer. I did run into one snag--the left turn they told me to make was darn near a U-turn. I had to skip it, then spend half an hour finding a place to turn around and come back to take it safely. But I did get there.

Eventually.

I wonder how much extra fuel I burned.

And these are the people who will find me a timely way home after sending me 3-400 miles in the other direction.

I don't have to be cynical.
*****
*(The other entry with today's date would have been dated yesterday if I'd had a cell tower handy. The traffic stop it described happened the day before.
(Confused yet? Don't worry--you will be...)

**(Yep. This post actually was written today. But it should have been posted yesterday, since I'm talking about something that happened the day before. NOW are you confused?)

***("You're where?" one of them said. "You saved yourself a lot of trouble, ducking off the road like that. Nice move!"
(It's always pleasant to be appreciated...)