Rider in the Storm

Fortune smile upon me, for the boatman Charon makes no change.

I don't care for driving at night. Oncoming headlights are wearing on the eyes. There is always that stream of bright lights that washes out the rest of the world. Two or three hours of that, makes for a poor evening. What you can see comes from that small bubble of light racing in front of you to illuminate the road. Just the road ahead, no further. So the scenery is usually lighted buildings and billboards. Oh how well I know the billboards that run the length of my route.

Finally there are the unseen dangers. In this part of the world at least, there are a lot of critters waiting in the wings to suicide by throwing themselves at your vehicle. Critters be dumb and numerous. I've not yet hit anything, luckily, but that's not for the lack of suicide squads what have tried. So far my nearest miss involved 3 feet of empty air between my fender and a bounding deer. Louis, you want to talk about deer again?

You know what makes driving at night better? A snow storm. Snow began falling early afternoon, and temperatures began to fall before night. The snow began to stick, the wet stuff. Slick. Ice. The snow wasn't too heavy, but it did diminish visibility some. There was one point in the afternoon as I drove into the storm when I thought my vision had suddenly begun to dim. It was like the house lights in a theater as a movie starts. I nearly panicked.

Wind too is usually a part of a storm. Driving in the wind? That also sucks. It doesn't seem to matter if the vehicle is large or small, a powerful gust can throw you around the road. I think wind is almost as dangerous as slippery roads, especially when driving at highway speeds. At least you can see the snow on the ground. There was wind that night too.

Compound all of that with a large cargo van with rear-wheel drive. So much more surface area for the wind to catch hold of. And poor traction to push the vehicle forward. I've only ever been in a single car accident, it involved riding in a van through poor weather at night. Said van spun out and then rolled over the edge. That was nearly a decade ago. Have you no idea what I'm talking about?

Though my knowledge of the universe is imperfect and I can only make deductions at any given time by my experience, I shall still try and explain:

Rear-wheel drive vehicles are when the engine is used to power the rear wheels (actually usually just one rear wheel as I understand it – my information might be obsolete or incorrect though.). I believe the problem here is the lack of weight over those wheels and the difficulty for the tires to get proper traction on the surface, especially when the roads are slick with ice. Thus, when you stop at an intersection, lo and behold when you go to accelerate, the wheels just spin unhappily.

This, I believe is the problem. And it leads to the wheels spinning, which can result in fish-tailing. Fish-tailing is when the rear of the vehicle swerves back and forth of its own volition. Not a pleasant experience when you're traveling anything above 20. Much less so when you're out on the highway at any speed. I imagine that this loss of grip was what sent so many of my fellow fools off into the ditch.

If I'm wrong, feel free to pipe up.

Every day I pass at least 4 billboards advertising the lotto. You know, at 11 at night, when headlights are blaring in your face, with the knowledge that you're going to have to do this again tomorrow and every night five nights a week for the foreseeable future, well those 1 in 100,000,000 odds seem like a good bet. Maybe that's their plan. This week the jackpot was 350,000,000. The mind moves quick to ponder what being rich would be like. What one would do with a few(or a great many) million dollars. Think those happy thoughts. Hope is what gets we the fools through the day.

I was an hour late to start on my route. Cycle(the monthly supply medications) was due for one of the larger clients and my company had recently divested itself of the truck that was used to haul larger deliveries(rather, this one delivery monthly). We instead started a new practice of renting a van once a month for that particular delivery(or maybe they're buying a van). But it is a new process and there was confusion – primarily that U-haul charges for mileage, where as their competitor Enterprise doesn't. After I picked up the van, I pointed this fact out – about a half hour before go time, right at the height of rush hour. We got rid of the first van and rented a second – $.59 a mile over the course of a 300 mile round trip is some heavy cash. Not exactly a conducive to good business.

We ordered a second van. I got to do the old switcheroo. Picking up the second van involved trudging through rush-hour traffic at the city's most busy intersection. I won't make that mistake again. The agent at Enterprise was delighted that we shared the same first name, and he mixed small talk with business as most reasonable people do. I lack the skill/ability/talent/inclination to make small talk. Just cannot do it, or make myself interested. Questions, those wonderful things that get the ball rolling, just do not occur to me. I am quite content to remain silent and think about candy. I can however engage in conversation when someone goads me along, I can answer questions and even show some whit. I just cannot make myself engage with a stranger.

Much to my disappointment, though not surprise, I found that neither of the cargo vans had a decent sound system. I don't expect top of the line speakers or whatever. But a line-in or cd player seems to be about standard. I was left with a radio for the duration. 8 hours is a long ass time to listen to NPR. Yes, I am a pretentious prick who listens to NPR. Normally I listen to music or Audio books when working. They both help the hours pass.

So, I got a late start. This isn't too terrible, if you believe in the theory that the rush-hour will pass you by, or at least thin out. It usually does during my normal route. Traffic starts slightly heavy, though flowing constantly, and then lessens as the evening grows. Usually. In ideal conditions. Or even less than ideal conditions. But it had been snowing for the last several hours and the highways hadn't been plowed completely clean. Most folks were careful. And the dumb ones were in the ditch. I swear, I saw more cars off the road that night than on all of my other trips combined. The wreckers must have made a killing and the highway patrol was kept busy all through the evening.

I have driven through worse weather. Twice I drove through a blizzard But that was when I was still profoundly stupid. Now I'm just moderately stupid. But

This night, there was a stream of slow moving traffic extending from both of my bumpers, kind of like a giant millipede that was just sputtering along. For a few short minutes I briefly hit my top speed of around 45MPH. Which then dropped down to around 10, with the average running around 35. Most nights I can happily cruise along at 70. Faster even, if I feel rushed. But I usually don't and feel that abiding by the limits are fair enough. 2 or 5 extra miles per hour won't make much difference in the course of a night as to when my route ends.

I ran into a strange effect of the conditions. There were times where I couldn't seem to make myself go over a certain speed. I spent the night with my foot on the accelerator pedal – where usually I opt to use cruise control. I often find myself getting swept up and following the flow of traffic whenever I have to feed the engine manually. Cruise control helps keep this impulse at bay, while freeing me up from keeping an eye on the speedometer. A feature that came in quite handy when I was young and just getting the hang of driving.

Now, mind, had I been in a smaller and more manageable car I would have gone a bit faster I think. No where near highway speeds, but I imagine that I would have been willing to broach 50 on some parts of the trip out. Though I still would have kept the cruise off. No point in tempting Fate further and being struck down like those other fools. A man cannot spin fantasies about wealth or romance if he's dead. Or worse, in one of the facilities my company services. Some of them deal with auto accident victims.

Needless to say though, it took twice as long as usual to arrive at my first stop. Really – that is the general theme of the night. I usually get back home around 11pm, and this time it was 3.30 AM. Just a recurring theme of the night.

I was met with an avalanche of Pity from the people I encountered at my final stop. Given, usually I get there around 8.30, and it was now fast approaching midnight. They make you go out in that? One asked me. While another said that she had been wrong before in thinking that her job sucked – not when she saw what was expected of me. Maybe they were wondering if I would be remanded into their care before the end of the night.

I hope not. Not that. Not ever. Though the irony makes me laugh now. I think I would weep later.

Anyhow, that last stop went rather smoothly, cold as it was. And soon I was on my way back home. Another long drive was ahead. This time I managed to get all the way up to 50 MPH at a few points. That is, until those heart jolting shots of adrenaline kicked in when suddenly the rear of the van would begin pulling to one side or another.

I'm not a coffee drinker and the headlights were grinding away at my eyes like sandpaper by the end. I was happy to be back in town safe. All that remained was to gas up and drop off the van before going home and finding my blankets. Sadly, I lost my credit card. I have a habit of placing important objects such as my glasses and keys into the same place. That way I never lose them. Same goes with the cards and their place in my wallet.

I must say that I was surprised to find out that the card wasn't in the proper place. Very surprised. I practiced some of my vocabulary of harsh language and jumped back into the van to head back home. The rest could wait until morning. (I found the card, it WAS in my wallet, but in a different slot. I blame a combination of the long night and general stupidity on the part of the user).

I would say that overall, the experience has driven me to think deeply about what I want out of life. This is not the case though. Generally I know what I want out of life. I just don't know how to go about making those dreams come true. My imagination doesn't extend to finding that necessary path. Some seem well out of my reach as I keep treading water. I feel like that stupid van, my tires are spinning while I sit still. I hate it. This leaves me feeling unfulfilled. Ennui is a close friend.

In Greece, people use large wooden horse to get into Troy. In Michigan they use horse to get out.

The world of Detroit is akin to a planetary nebula. That's where a star about the size of our sun goes through its final death throws, expands to the size of a red giant, kicks off a ring of gas and dust and then finally collapses into its final form, a white dwarf. White dwarfs are cold and dim(relatively) remnants of extremely dense matter (they're the size of the earth with the mass of the sun) that no longer work as nuclear furnace. For all intents and purposes they're corpses that have retained some body heat. Detroit is like this. I think. Detroit, burned bright for most of the last century and now it's a remnant. While the suburbs seem to expand outwards forever. But it all looks about the same. Cookie cutter extruded mass of suburbia. It is a strange thing, we in America consider ours to be a melting pot culture. We are a microcosm of humanity. But when you get down to it, any city built in the last fifty years looks exactly the same as all of the others. Block after block, this maze runs. If you were to fall asleep in one of the suburbs of Detroit and awake in the outskirts of Indianapolis, I doubt that you would notice. We are diverse homogeneity, and I hate it. Our cities tend to grow more and more uninteresting with each passing decade. What brings this on? I got to spend the weekend in Troy Michigan, doing Data Entry for a pharmacy that was switching software. I spent 17 hours transferring patient records by hand from the old system to the new. Then afterwards I got to see a little of Troy. Worst Vacation Ever. The Onion has a wonderful story titled something like 'College Senior hopes she can turn love of Data Entry into Career in Data Entry.' Wonderful Satire. But for anyone who doesn't know, data entry is simply taking information from one source and inputing it into a computer database. It can be described in a word, Tedious. If I had to look forward to a future of Data Entry, I think I would open my own veins. If I had to The pharmacy was an interesting place, as these things go. They seem to have moved recently and were in a rather disorganized state. Fine, that makes the environs that much more interesting. A bit of clutter is nice and homey. Even if such isn't the ideal way to run a business. But as the weekend passed, the crew got things slowly squared away. It is a strange thing to drive two hundred miles and find things are similar to my own corner of the state. The Pharmacy in Troy seems to use the same distributor as does the two I've worked at here in town. So they have the same stickers on the same medication bottles. The drugs arrive from the distributor in the same dark blue, light blue, green and grey bins. One difference was somewhat cultural. On the west side of the state, it's a haven for Conservative Religious folk endemic in our nation. Christians mostly. Where they have religion at all, most are protestant. Black, white and brown seem to be the most prominent groups. The Troy Pharmacy was mostly, as was implied earlier, of folks who hailed form the Mid East. English and Arabic seemed to flow together, just like with Spanglish. Evil made the statement that it is disconcerting to hear a sentence almost entirely of one language that seems to flow around a single word from the other. They are like tantalizing scraps for an outsider to try to piece together the conversation from the bits and pieces that you understand. But anyone has heard Spanglish is familiar with the concept. Fascinating how two languages seem to inhabit the mind together. As someone who is unilingual, I wonder how multi-lingual folk engaged in the exchange decide when to flit back and forth. When do you decide that the German word for Panties isn't good enough, so you have to drudge up the Swahili equivalent? I would love to know how these choices are made and how conscious they are. But as someone who absolutely sucks at memorizing (I'm lazy and a language is made up of tons of sounds and their meanings that need to be memorized), I doubt I shall ever have the experience myself. Back to the office. It was a basement, a dungeon. Large and spacious, but lacking windows. I do love having natural light, it makes me feel human. I was lead to a cubical, mostly empty except for a chair and a computer. With a brief description of what I needed to do, I was left alone with a stack of papers. Behind me was a fellow who was listening to what seemed to be a religious broadcast. About Jesus and Islam. I'm not sure if it was pro-Christian, or trying to get Christians and Muslims to work together. From what I heard, it sounded like a little of A, while maybe trying to convert Muslims. The Preacher was performing a monologue about how important the prophet Jesus is to Islam, and how many Muslim kids are named after him, and maybe how the grass is greener over in Christianity. Has anyone else had an experience like this? Luckily I had my iPod. Oh iPod, you are one of the greatest inventions that humanity has yet devised! So, Data entry is how I spent my days in Troy. With a bit of religiosity and Metallica smattered within. How about the evening? We had a fine dinner of Olive Garden. I forswore the never ending pasta bowl, or whatever they call it. The food is of course tasty. But you can get it anywhere. According to Google there are at least three in the city where I reside. It'd be like visiting New York and patronizing Pizza Hut. Just get out, walk down the block, and find a good local restaurant! Though, I have no clue what sort of food Troy/Detroit might be famous for. There are a lot of Middle-Eastern folk, so Mediterranean food and Indian are my best guesses. - In our defense though, We're cheap and we had a gift card for Olive Garden. Free food isn't something Evil or I often turn down. Evil and I stayed at a place called the Candlewood Suites. Which was both awesome and lame. It's a hotel aimed at long term guests, and comes with a full kitchen, living area, and bedroom in each suite. Pretty damn cool, if somewhat old. Our suite had an aged television and a video-dvd player, which I expect is about par for the course. The kitchen is fully stocked with utensils and the inn offers a washing service gratis, as well as the free video lending library. But at the same time they seem to be rather laid back. Kind of how I would imagine a youth Hostel to be. I visited the video library, an eclectic collection of dvds and vhs tapes. I don't know who put it together, but they REALLY liked Steven Seagal. Vern has nothing on these folks, Though mostly it was Golden Era Steven Seagal. And I had already seen all the movies. Then there were the mysterious Bollywood tapes. They were encased in a plain white cardboard slip-case and had equally plain text on some tape denoting the name of the film and the major players. Tempting as these mysteries were to explore, I ended up folding to my inner historian and choosing The Assassination of Jesse James ETCETERA, a historical docudrama about said man and event. Three hours long it was, so I never got to the part about the assassination. Only that James and the people around him were fucking dicks. That was enough for me to hope that the Yankees would come back through and put a torch to that part of Missouri. Sunday saw more data entry – followed by pay and release. Freedom to leave Detroit. Judging by the traffic flowing out from the city, I am not alone in that sentiment. Most people were flying out of the city, like it was infested with zombies and on fire to boot. 80MPH+. Swerving like mad. One fellow we saw barely slowed down when they got off the highway and onto a ramp. It was good to be free of the city and on our way back home. Next week, Travers City Michigan.

The hardcore life of a drug mule.

I got to do some drug-muling this week. Boy was it fun.

Wait, that sounds like an actual adventure, and not a twisted half-mirror image of one. I work for a pharmacy that specializes In supplying long term care facilities. Most facilities are on a 30 day cycle for their medications, meaning that they generally get one large shipment every 30 days. With exceptions being made for emergencies and new prescriptions. But all in all days are spent packing tens of thousands of dollars of medication for one delivery. All your eggs in one basket indeed.

Let me explain something about the facility in question. First, it is a depressing place to visit as they take care of and house car accident victims. I don't mean people who broke an arm in a car crash, I mean the folks who have come away permanently changed. Or just aren't there any more. One of the most depressing set of instructions ever seen on a script is probably "Apply to stumps." Really, when it comes to a place like this, those what die are the lucky ones. The rest are just vegetables and shells. Which is why, that if I get into an accident, I hope to buy the farm immediately.

I think that 16 year old kids, and people on DUI charges should be forced to visit... no, work at a place like the Facility. Videos and brochures and slogans are all nice, but you need to be able to experience in all visceral sensual detail what their decisions could lead to, either for themselves or for others. Let them apply ointments to the stumps of a vegetable for a few weeks. Let them interact with the brain-scrambled denizens that poke and prod and generally go on crazy.

And if they fail to learn the lesson, shoot them, as anyone that thick shouldn't be allowed to breed.

In seven months, this is the third time I've taken cycle to the Facility. The first time was because our driver decided to take a day off right as cycle was due. This was about two weeks after I started. I got to drive across the state and deliver the cycle. Which is for our little company a very big deal. Almost like, oh I don't know, some asshole captain of an oil tanker in say Alaska skiving off to get drunk and handing the job over to the peon who washes dishes. Except that I avoided grounding on any reefs.

This is all just to say, muling isn't my usual job, I just step in when needed.

Our driver promoted himself to the head of the delivery department. This happened when one of our competitors imploded and our business quadrupled in like a week. So they brought in a ton of new people and a half-dozen new drivers. Here's where my confusion begins, they have a load of drivers who are fully capable of taking an object from point a and leaving it at point b and then returning home. They have one woman who is dedicated to this route. Plus the self-styled manager of the delivery department carried cycle to this very Facility at least ten times in the past year, plus near daily visits in between.

When he stepped up, he gave his job to an older woman. One who has yet to win the confidence of some of management in her ability to take an object from point a and point b and then return. She's pissed off the goblin that works at the Facility, who just happens unpleasant creature who doesn't seem to like anyone or anything. So I was asked to go along to make things smoother.

Which brings me back...

It turns out that I wasn't just along as extra muscle, I was the actual driver and delivery monkey. This is a one person job, and I would have preferred to do it alone. Or better have our main driver take over.

If one of his hand picked followers is incapable of doing the job, shouldn't the head of the shipping department be the one who steps in? It's not like the man is busy, his days are spent chatting on the phone and taking two hour lunch breaks at Hooters. Yeah, this is great. I'm doing his job. I hope I get paid extra for it. I would like to be the head driver for a day. Hang out at Hooters. Wreck the company bathroom. Take an hour to fill one car up with gas. Creep out the female members of the staff and get away with it.

The drive over went quietly and smooth. How I like it.

There was yelling when we arrived, or so I heard tell of later. The warthog wasn't too pleased to see my copilot. She came out of the South Building and yelled "Don't you know where South is?" I pointed at the building and responded "Yeah, It's right there!" Had I wanted to see a real explosion, I could have said "Do you need directions?" But I like having my testicles whole and attached to my person, so I kept my mouth shut.

Beyond this, the delivery went rather smoothly. Dropped off meds, saw pretty girls. That's the one reason for a Facility visit for me, they have a lot of pretty girls working there. My company is sadly lacking on that front. Gotta go out and visit other companies to see natural beauties in their wild habitats. With luck, maybe I'll bring one home one day.

During the second to the last stop, one of the more mobile patients approached my copilot and asked a simple question "Did it hurt?" Now there are two possible reasons that I can think of for this question, and sadly he didn't opt for the first and instead finished with one of the classic pick-up lines. Only to immediately dive into a second, followed by a third. My copilot giggled the whole time. We don't think she usually gets that sort of attention.

A second high-point, if it can be considered so, involved an idiot man-child. Now, when you stand in the center of a group of angry women, and then make what can be considered sexist statements to them, you should expect to get a beating. He didn't seem to make that connection as they slapped him. He even asked why I didn't man up and help him. I called him a moron. That got a laugh.

Then the return trip. The trip out was quiet, the one back not so much so. I got to hear about the yelling, and autistic grand children and about a dozen other topics of less interest. I thought about the pretty girls.

My favorite quote from the entire experience was "Animals are alive." This wasn't from a head-paitent or a random crazy hobo, but my copilot just after we narrowly missed turning a living breathing turkey into something that could be squeezed through a feeding tube. I don't know what she meant by it - I think that this was my "If it weren't for my horse" moment. I've tried to dissect the statement, and the best I can come up with was that it was a philosophical observation about the changing of the weather and how animals seem to just re-appear again.

Or maybe she's just dumb.

Meeting Crazy Number 2 - Electric Boogaloo!

So, more in the realm of both driving the manual, and meeting the crazies. I'm an office monkey by trade, I was hired to pick up the slack where needed. That is my job, deliver mail, run to the bank, pick up office supplies, clean the office, data entry. Whatever task doesn't have a specific position to cover it, I get to do it. Fine, it keeps my day a bit varied and a little free. And thus a little more interesting.

Thus, when called, I get to step in for our delivery driver, head across the state and drop off some supplies at a facility that the company services. (or even drop off supplies in town)

All the patients in the facility are victims of car accidents and have, among other things, suffered head trauma and brain damage. Some of the residents are a bit on the crazy side. Most have been rather friendly. The sister says that the most depressing instructions she's ever read involved a cream that stated 'apply to stumps'. That's the kind of place I get to visit. I'm much more careful around cars these days, whether it's driving or just crossing the street. After dealing with people who are no longer what they were, I don't want to end up the same way.

And please don't bring up the one-eyed man who doesn't like to wear his glass eye or eye-patch.

I must say that I am spoiled. My aged Lumina has cruise control. Cruise control is nice on long car trips, you set it and the car stays at a constant speed, going up or down hills. I was rather disappointed and surprised when I hit the cruise button in the company car and nothing happened. Even after I pressed it five more times. Hey, it could have just been a short, we don't exactly have a top of the line luxury car. Nope, no luck there. I discovered the next morning that there's a master switch on the steering-wheel I didn't know about that turns the cruise control on and off. Once again my ignorance has defeated me

I was in for an evening of cramped muscles and watching the odometer. Huzzah!

The night was a little longer, and the drive a bit shorter for the lack of Cruise Control. Usually I try and keep within about five miles of the speed limit either way. For that trip? I tried to keep it under 80. It's a funny psychological glitch that drives people to join the herd. Countless times during those four hours on the road I found myself unconsciously accelerating as another car passed me by, or sped up on my tail. These pressures are a bit easier to ignore when the car runs itself. Instead, I have to confront my sheepish tendencies. Bahh ha ha ha!

Somewhere around 2 or 2.5 hours and one cramped leg later, I made it to the facility. Didn't get lost, or turned around this time. Only took three trips to memorize the path.

On the way back to the car I was accosted by a man taking a smoke break. Judging by the sound of his voice, he probably smokes at least five packs a day, and has done so since he was five. On the odd days, he takes a bottle brush to his throat, just for that little extra touch. Anyhow, he called me Hippie. To which I can only respond "That sounds like me!" The long hair and all you know. Well, what followed was a five minute lecture on the evils of the Johnson and Johnson Corporation. It appears that J&J have started putting all sorts of nasty additives into their products - Battery Acid being one of them - all in order to create "Male Pattern Baldness", since it didn't exist before the J&J company was formed.

Tell that to the bald whore-monger Julius Caesar. (He suffered from Pattern Baldness, for those of you my two readers, who don't get the reference) Et Tu Juilui?

Why would they do this? You ask. This big corporation Well J&J make Rogaine, and they have to pimp it somehow. So if the tobacco industry is focusing on making cigarettes safer and more addictive, then why the hell not? Listed on the ingredients for my bottle of shampoo are several chemicals whose names I can't pronounce - except for the word acid - I ain't a chemist, for all I know they stand for dirt and the life blood of a virgin.

So, I was introduced to a new conspiracy theory. Sweet. I love conspiracy theories, the crazier the better, they're fun. He also told me what kind of shampoo to buy. I didn't catch the name, sorry, but it's expensive and comes in liter bottles. So, go forth and buy random expensive shampoos so that your hair doesn't melt. You heard it here first.

After this encounter, I've decided to wear my kilt more often. That way I don't get called Hippie, or if I happen to grow a beard, Jesus. With a Kilt, long hair, and maybe the beard - I'll be a highlander. I might have to carry a sword too. But the fashion-folks always say to accessorize properly. And maybe the crazies will avoid a dude packing a broadsword(my skinny ass would just look comical hauling about a claymore)

Some 12 hours later, I was called on to make a local delivery. It was to an older gentleman who was hooked up to his oxygen tank. Now - I commend him in choosing freedom and comfort. Pants are confining and uncomfortable. But good sir, since you've gotten rid of pants for those very reasons(so I am assuming, since I didn't bring the topic up in conversation) would it not be better to have switched to boxers. Or maybe a kilt. I'm sure there must be some black folk in Scotland by now, you could swing it.

***(Please don't swing it, at least while I'm around)***

So, am I building up Karma for something really good? Or working off something really bad?