Now I had to return to get the remaining 2/3 of the shipment. I decided to take the mighty Curmudgeon Truck (which is a 1 ton dually). I had visions of my friend’s 3/4 ton truck breaking in half. Besides he’d been steering it mostly by hope and I couldn’t bear taking another ride loaded like that. He didn’t complain when I suggested the switch.
I glanced at the Pony trailer but immediately rejected that idea. The Little Pony trailer would hemorrhage just looking at those heavy shingles.
I hitched up his car trailer to my truck and removed my tailgate. I left my him at the house. “I got this” I said and then zoomed off. We must face our fates alone.
I was confident. I have more or less the biggest truck you can buy without getting a commercial driver’s license and trying to cram a Peterbuilt in the garage. I stroked the truck’s dash.
“You were born for this.” I assured the beast. “It is time to shine.” The mighty diesel engine was running smooth and cool. I love my truck. My truck loves me. (The dog gets honorable mention but you can’t haul lumber on a dog.)
Back at the lumber yard I unhitched the trailer. I planned to put the first pallet on the truck itself. The yoyo that had almost killed the Honda SUV an hour earlier swooped over with his forklift.
“Nice truck.” He beamed “want me to load it.” I considered hitting him with a rock, hiding the body, and running the forklift myself.
I warned the kid in the forklift that my truck was not any truck.
“There are many trucks”, I looked him in the eye, “but this one is mine”. He shivered.
I radiated menace. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He gulped and nodded.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Nobody will think less of you if you back out.” I added. By offering him the chance to bail out I felt he’d volunteered for whatever came next. Should he damage my truck I’d feel morally justified dismembering him with a tire iron. (In certain states I believe this is actually written into law under the “he messed with my truck” clause.)
Have I mentioned that I like my truck? It is said that a grizzly bear mother is dangerous when separated from her cub. This is ridiculous. Grizzly bears have never made a truck payment.
He wanted to do it. Brave? Stupid? Regardless, he had been warned.
I manually unloaded a tall pallet down to 15 bundles. (Have I mentioned that “bundles” are not “squares” but rather 1/3 of a “square” and a “square” will cover some number that is not 100 square feet but more than 15 of them will tip a Bobcat at an angle reminiscent of the Tango? Every time I mention the ‘logic’ behind construction units butterflies get cancer and Satan divides by zero.)
To my surprise he loaded the truck gently as a feather floating on the breeze. Which is good. After all, his life depended on it.
Then I rehitched the trailer and started loading more pallets with bundles. The forklift kid helped. A third guy showed up too. We were slinging shingles like the macho men in the backdrop of a truck commercial. In fact, I was humming the theme from a truck advertisement… oddly not from my brand. Does that make me disloyal?
More in Part V.