|
I entered training at the beginning of my truck driving career in January of 1997, just a few days after the new year. They put me with an old guy, and despite him not being very conversational, he told me what I needed to know and performed the job adequately. Then his truck broke down in Atlanta and it was going to be a week getting fixed. I asked dispatch if there was someone else in the area I could train with. It wasn't anything against my trainer, I just wanted to get the training out of the way as soon as possible so I could get into a rig of my own.
They found someone who was just coming off of home time and lived in the area. So I hopped a ride with him and figured that now I'd be able to complete my training as soon as possible since we could get it done before he was due home again. He was a real nice, guy, too. He was much more social than the other guy and was originally from Jamaica. I enjoyed listening to him speak in that accent. But not more than a week into my instruction with him we got into a nasty situation out in the Wyoming high desert. The guy got into an accident and let me tell you, I'm lucky to still have my legs from the knees down. I wrote a story about it and if y'all would like to check it out just let me know and I'll post it again. It's one of my older tales and it would probably be new to most of you anyway.
The Jamaican got fired and I still needed two more weeks with a trainer before I could hop into my own truck. My dispatcher sent me home after the accident, though. Told me just to take it easy for a few days.
I got a call after a couple of days at home from dispatch saying that I needed to meet with my next trainer in Richmond, Indiana. We had a terminal there at the time and it was about 40 miles away from the house. The guy called me and told me his truck number, what he looked like, and where he'd be at the terminal. So I headed on out there to meet up with him.
He was an older black guy. I try not to differentiate on that basis, but it is important to this story. I'll call him Arnold. I think he said he was 63. I remember him talking about looking forward to retirement. I was 24 at the time and looking forward to getting my own truck. I guess I wasn't looking too far down the road at the time. Arnold wasn't quite as conversational as the Jamaican, but more so than the first guy. I remember him telling me about his house. He lived in West Virginia. Back when he was young, he and his brother got married (not to each other, of course :)) at about the same time. They needed new homes to start their families. Instead of buying a house, they went in together on a piece of land and helped each other build their homes. He spoke proudly of that and they still lived in those homes 40 years later.
Another thing that is important to this story is that I was crazy as hell back then, and not in any way resembling good. I was actually psychotic at the time. Looking back I have no idea how I got into trucking. I guess everyone assumed that I was just an asshole. I never physically harmed anyone, but I sure as hell trampled on some feelings. And it wasn't anything I was doing on purpose. When I would behave antisocially it was done to drive people away. I thought I was constantly being persecuted. I just wanted to be left alone.
But I still knew right from wrong. Some part of me still retained the good values that my parents instilled in me. A part of that was the idea that racism was bad.
It was customary at the time for trainers to buy their students a meal at some point during the training. I was being paid $300 a week before taxes back then and living out on the road can be expensive; especially if you are new to the industry and haven't picked up on money saving tricks yet.
So one day we pull into a truck stop and Arnold offers to buy me dinner. Because of that persecution complex I was telling you about, I preferred not to be around people for longer than I had to; especially crowds- that really got me worked up. I would keep getting more anxious while sitting in a restaurant until I'd start to have a panic attack and get the hell out of there. I had been eating out of cans most of the time, or fast food if there was such a restaurant located in a truck stop. I'd just go in and as quick as I could, grab something to eat and then head back out to the truck to eat it.
So, I turned down Arnold's offer. And he got the wrong idea. Because of my behavior since I'd been with him, Arnold thought I had a problem with black people. The refusal to eat with him just confirmed that in his mind. He told me how he saw that I didn't like eating with black people and how I didn't like being around him when out in public. I tried to defend myself, but I wasn't very good at that back then and I couldn't convince that it wasn't him- it was everyone. I don't think it worked and I was completely unable to explain the real reason to him like I've done here. I didn't even know that I was mentally ill back then.
I finished my training with Arnold uneventfully, and in a very business-like manner.
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(1000+ posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
