Candy Ass

From the crummy little room at the Motel 6 in Indianapolis, where he was trapped for seven days, Dad said, “The Midwest might just be the rectum of America, and if that’s true, then Indianapolis, Indiana is the rectum of the whole Earth.”

Now, it’s a good thing no Midwesterners read this, because that could be considered a slightly insulting assessment.  Let me briefly explain the circumstances under which he made this claim:

As a truck driver Dad is accountable to his log—the computerized system on board his truck that keeps track of how long he drives vs. how long he is stopped.  For insurance purposes he absolutely must stop driving after 11 hours.  No drivers are allowed to go more than 11 hours in a day.  Even if they can’t find a really good place to stop.  Even if they have to behave like “candy asses” and stop two hours early because they don’t want to go over.  Even if they’re almost home on Christmas morning, after traveling for so long, and they have to drive for a few hours past the limit to make it.

So Dad, over the months, got a little lax with the log.  Every time he went over he got a call from a company representative, but because they never yelled at him or threatened him, he figured it was no big deal.  Finally he received a suspension.  Again, the people administering this punishment were good-natured and helped him plan it to coincide with a home visit, so he thought of it more as a little vacation.  He continued ignoring his log requirements whenever he really wanted to.

When he stopped last week at the big trucking terminal in Indianapolis he was instructed to go inside to someone’s office for an official talk.  While in this office he learned that he was being placed on another suspension, this time for seven days.  He also found out that his truck (good old Big Blue) would be taken from him and that this suspension was his last warning before being fired.  Because he was so far from home he couldn’t ride the bus to stay with family.  That’s why he got a room at the Motel 6.  He had to clean everything out of his truck, and gave away his cooler and some other things because they wouldn’t all fit in the taxi.  He said he had to do the “walk of shame, hauling all my crap through the terminal.”  In his voice I could hear the guilt and sadness and fear.

At the end of his suspension, however, he was given a jet black Peterbilt and the news that his log offenses would clear from his record in July if he could avoid further offense.  He’s back on the road, feeling relieved and has resolved (for now) to be the biggest candy ass out on the highway.