Adventures in Bureaucracy

(The following actually happened a week or two ago.  It took me this long to recount it in a properly lighthearted fashion...)


Part I: Quick fix
Picked up a trailer yesterday, and took it 30 miles down the road to the nearest truck stop for weighing. While I was maneuvering for a parking place, another driver told me the trailer brake lights were out.

I was parked at a truck stop with a shop. Part of a chain we do business with. But (the company said) we have a terminal in the neighborhood, so let's save money.

So I drove another thirty miles back the way I came. To a crowded terminal, just packed with ailing trucks and trailers.

Six hours later, the company mechanics looked at my trailer. Nothing wrong with the brake lights. Turned out the problem was with the connecting cable* on the truck. Ten minute fix.

But wait. The trailer had serious structural problems. It was not safe to carry a load.

After only half an hour, a Corporate Decision was made. The freight would have to be unloaded, and reloaded onto another trailer.

The guy at the terminal cussed. This (expletive deleted) freight couldn't be unloaded without special equipment, and he didn't (expletive deleted) have it.

Four hours later another Corporate Decision was made. The trailer would be taken back to the shipper, who would move the stuff to another trailer. And since no other truck was available, moving it back would be my job. Soon as I got up in the morning, since this had taken up all of my lawfully permitted day.

So this morning I got up, took the trailer another thirty miles in the wrong direction, back to the shipper. The gate guard knew about the problem, and immediately got on the phone to let the Shipping Department know I was here.

That was half an hour ago. I'm sure they'll answer their phone sometime.

The guard apologized for the delay. I told him I was used to it.

Part II: Simple answers
About half an hour after I finished the above, I was guided to the shipping department by a guard in a golf cart. An unusual honor, that. Usually they just point.

When I got there a man came out to see what was wrong with the trailer. After a few minutes he said it was just fine. I informed my company of this, and they said wait for instructions.

A couple of hours later I realized I had problems.

My reasoning was as follows:
If the shipper said there was indeed a problem with the trailer, then they were admitting they'd overlooked the problem when they'd inspected the trailer before loading it. Therefore nothing was wrong with the trailer.

And if nothing was wrong with the trailer, then by George they weren't going to waste time pulling everything off it and putting it on another trailer.

On the other hand, if my company said the trailer was all right, they were saying the mechanics at the terminal were seeing things. Therefore something was wrong with the trailer.

And if something was wrong with the trailer, then by George they couldn't allow it out on the highway.

And until somebody decided to back down, I would sit in a dusty parking lot, enjoying the Southern summer day.

Part III: Decisive action
About two hours later, the guard came back by to see why I was still hanging around, I explained things to him, and he commiserated. Then he said he'd talk to somebody and see if he could speed things up a little.

Half an hour later he returned to escort me off the property.

Apparently, when he asked about me, they decided that, since they'd already said nothing was wrong, I had no business there. And since I don't spend much of my time picking fights, I went along quietly.

At the next available stopping place I informed my employers. An hour later I got a message: "What are you doing sitting there? If there's nothing wrong with the trailer you should be rolling."

So I rolled.

Nice to have clear instructions.

(I was later told that, after I'd made the delivery (500 miles distant), I should take the trailer to the nearest terminal and leave it to be repaired. After all, it's been declared unsafe...)
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*Called a "pigtail, for reasons that would be obvious if you were looking at one.

Lessons in non-verbal communication

I dropped a load in New England the other morning and went off to find a place to park. In New England this is not a trivial exercise.

This time it wasn't too bad,though--I knew a place to start. I-95 used to be a toll road in these parts, and some of the old service plazas are still in place.* I'd stopped at one on the way in. So that's where I went to await further orders.

When I got them, there was a slightly embarrassing detail: the shipper was north of me, and I was at the southbound service plaza.

No biggie. You just go south an exit, turn left, go over or under the highway, and turn left again, right?

So I went south an exit, turned left, and--

--saw the sign beside the underpass. The one that had been invisible until I was well into the turn.

The one that said " 13' 5" "

I HAVE mentioned that modern semi's are 13' 6", haven't I?

Mind you, those sign are sometimes wrong. But the only way to know if this particular one was would have been to:

A--live around here, or--
B--drive on under, and listen for a crunch.

I chose "none of the above."

I tried to find a number for the local police department. The automated 411 service offered me five options. One was a police credit union, three were police union locals, and one was for the police department in the next major city.

I looked at the line of traffic behind me and called 911.

The emergency operator was less than pleased, but gave me the number. I was in such a hurry to stop bothering her, I rang off before I realized I hadn't gotten the area code. Rather than do that again, I looked it up online (my phone is smart--that's why it knew I didn't really want the police department).

Two nice officers came out within ten minutes to direct traffic, and help me back up and escape back onto the Interstate. But during that interval I saw many looks. And gestures.

Not all of them were directed at me. people were trying to slip past me the whole time. Past the oncoming traffic. On a two-lane street. Looks were exchanged. Sign language was in use. It was very educational.

I think I prefer books, though.
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*There's one in Maryland I'm especially fond of...