CHAPTER 30
(THE VENTING EXPERTS ARE WRONG)
July 5th 2018 $2,109.74 unpaid wages (The debt plateaus to the highest peaking point)
The health experts often tell the population that the healthiest way to vent frustration is to go for a walk. Alcohol, drugs, and even caffeine is not the proper way to vent the frustration of stress. Nothing like a good ole fashion cardiovascular healthy walk. But did the Manheim Township police department where my little brother has provided service for nearly 15 years agree with these health experts? Of course not!
The train ride from DC to Philly was amazing. The second train I took from Philly to the Lancaster Train station was even more comfortable. But was I supposed to be in Lancaster? Of course not. My employer still believed I was on my way to Hampton VA to recover tractor 549412, take it to Richmond VA for repair, and then claim it as my own. As for my initial tractor left at the J-Hooks lot in North Little Rock AR? I honestly don't know what became of it. It wasn't my problem anymore. I knew there most likely wasn't anything wrong with it but if they were going to continue to bully me by remotely shutting it off what did they expect would happen?
I had ended up wussing out from my 30 hour greyhound ride from Little Rock to Harrisburg PA once I reached the Greyhound Terminal in Nashville TN. And what was even MORE weird? Was the entire Calvary police/ambulance/fire truck force arriving at the Greyhound terminal right after I had used my smart phone to book a flight from Nashville to Trenton NJ. I knew the ENTIRE Calvary was there to peek on me but there was literally NOTHING they could do. The afternoon greyhound crowd in Nashville on June 30th 2018 was more flummoxed than a circus clown at a dog show. I knew what it was. The government was remotely peeking inside of my smart phone again. There was just simply no freaking way I could steel myself to keep myself awake 30 hours with all the transits involved. It was mid summer and every professional greyhound rider knew when it was time to line up to jump on the bus you HAD BETTER be in the front of that line. The last minute potty suckers in the back of the line were always stuck sitting in the very back of that Greyhound in the bitch section of the very hot back seat that sat on top of a very HOT bus engine. If that wasn't bad enough you were stuck next to a very stinky toilet for a very long ride.
Everybody was extremely confused by the Calvary encompassing the entire bus station in Nashville. Everybody except for me of course. My Northern name is "Bob" but my real name "Blake" is always liked down south. When I had exited the bus at the greyhound station like most hungry people the first place I accosted was the food kitchen. But what was the odds that right on the very busy dinner hour the steel cage was hunkering over the kitchen and the lights had been out. I knew it was all Trump Profiling bullshit. There were cameras everywhere in raft building and I think the cops were overseeing the demons I face on a daily basis. But even as observant as I usually was I was still traumatized to witness the Greyhound crowd already in the building EATING VERY FRESH OFF THE GRILL FOOD. Even the fries were still steaming. And I was to magically believe that there was an impromptu closing right on the dinner hour when there was ALL that money to be made? Bullshit. There was no yelling or incidents that would require for the entire uniformed Calvary to show up. I do clearly recall one regular Nashville homeboy trying to cover for the inquisitive crowd by pretending to have some sort of medical issues but it made absolutely no sense for the ENTIRE Calvary to show up when absolutely nothing had happened. Nothing of course other than my dinner had a steel cage protecting it!
Back to July 5th at 21:00
I still thought it was going to be funny once my company finally learned that I had secretly hopped ship once again. They deserved it though. They had evoked it themselves by withholding MY ENTIRE PAYCHECK. Once I had reached Washington DC I checked my email to view tomorrow's paycheck. Nothing. A big fat zero. My bills had been scanned in on time and there was just no reason for this payroll abuse. Right then and there in DC I purchased an Am-track ticket to Philly then from there to Lancaster. I was no sucker. It was rush hour and I would have to be a bloody fool to purchase a greyhound ticket back home instead. I traveled enough to know that generally the greyhound bus stations are often within a stone throw of the train stations and sometimes even adjoin.
Things had been SUPER weird ALL day! My BS story to the Am-track counter lady was that there had been an emergency and I needed a train ticket back to Lancaster PA. She INTENTIONALLY took forever with purchasing me an impromptu train ticket home. Geniuses fly in planes. Smart people take trains. Suicidal people take the stinky Greyhound bus.
But things got EVEN WEIRDER AT THE DC AMTRACK STATION. I frantically scrutinized every digital billboard until I saw my train number routed to Philly. It didn't take me long to find as I am deftly skilled and experienced at locating trailer numbers. Unfortunately I still had ONE BIG SERIOUS PROBLEM. The section next to the train number that lists the gate number was BLANK! WHAT WERE THE ODDS THAT NEARLY A HUNDRED TRAINS SHOWED GATE NUMBERS ON THE DIGITAL BILLBOARDS EXCEPT THE TRAIN TO PHILLY? How was that even possible? I wanted to take a picture of the billboard to prove the CIA peek-a-boos had a hard on for me but there was no time. I knew the train was boarding in less than ten minutes I just didn't know which gate it boarded as there were so many of them. As shy as I was I had to resort to plan B. I had to ask around until I bumped across a regular Philly train rider. It didn't take long and soon I found myself boarding a train.
By the time I reached Lancaster PA my nerves were completely shot. The WHOLE ENTIRE PAYCHECK! I thought to myself. How could the payroll ladies not be doing this on purpose?
The night was perfectly beautiful and now that the sun was down it wasn't too hot. I realized I still had to get 15 miles back to East Earl where I keep my car parked. I haven't lived in East Earl since January 2014 but I park my car in front of my folks house cuz it's close to the truck stop. I'm in no mood to talk to anybody because Celadon has me extremely pissed off with all their head games and nobody in their right mind would give this God forsaken company another mile with an accrued unpaid debt of $2,109.74. I have worked in factories where I've met people that showed up onto people's doorstep with a knife all because ten bucks was owed but a debt high enough to purchase an automobile? REALLY? Absurd.
Knowing I wasn't getting a paycheck period tomorrow ponying up $20.00 for a taxi was pretty much not an option on the table for now. I could call my little brother but I knew he had mentioned earlier that he was taking the entire family to Atlantic City New Jersey so I asked myself what would the professional health experts do? What do the professional health experts tell you to do when you are feeling very stressed out? Do they tell you to mail a bomb or would they probably tell you the most legal healthy option is to just go for a nice L-O-N-G walk? How did the Five Finger Death Punch Walk Away song go? "Just walk away make it easy on yourself."
With a heavy backpack and a big black trash bag full of clothes that's just what I decided to do. Take a nice long 15 mile walk back to my car so I could healthily blow off some steam according to the experts without drinking and driving instead. But would that sit well with the Manheim Township Police? A nice healthy strut back to my Uncle b mobile? OF COURSE NOT.
I was smart enough to tote two 32 ounce Gatorades but by the time I found myself a couple miles away those plastic bottles were bone dry. If that wasn't bad enough so was my cellphone battery! I walked along the shoulder of 222 highway and started to wonder what my legs were going to feel like the next day.
Would I even be able to walk? Fortunately I was wearing my bright yellow trucker shorts so I knew the passing motorists would at least be able to see me. It didn't matter that they could see me because I knew without any boobs I would be wasting my time trying to hitch hike. I might stand a chance with my John Deere hat but it's entirely too dark for the passing motorists to see it anyways. Believe it or not I can actually feel their republican disdain waft towards my direction as they whizz past me. Luckily it's not a rainy one or I'm sure they would intentionally veer towards the shoulder and splash into the puddles. That would definitely cool off my steam for sure. My luggage gets heavier and heavier the further I go. Another quarter mile and reality starts to settle in for me. I'm not gonna make it. Not only am I not gonna make it I'm completely out of Gatorade. The Brownstown exit still looks over a mile away. I realize I'm left with only one option if I even want to survive this trip. I NEED TO HIDE MY LUGGAGE.
I realize even though it's dark outside I'm taking a huge risk by dumping my luggage behind a guardrail. So I instead opt to keep it moving. The back of my knees are tightening up like newly unpackaged rubber bands and I know I'm gonna be stiff as a board the next day. I also realize that the imminent threat at hand is not having so much as a single drop of water. I ask myself a simple question. Is this really what the hobos with the cardboard signs I always see everyday go through each and every day? My gosh those panhandlers must certainly have a strong will to survive.
My gait is nearing a crawl and I'm now hunkered over as the weight of my luggage is pushing me right into the ground.
Things are getting pretty serious and it's a definite that I'm not gonna make the 15 mile journey back to my car. Suddenly I notice I have a flashing blue and red shadow. Oh shit I think to myself. It's those little goobers that waited until after high school to like girls chasing me down with their woo woo lights!
My shadow in front of me was getting longer and longer just like Pinnochio's nose. I didn't have to turn around to know that the Poh-Poh was creeping up from behind me because my shadow was already telling me. I finally stopped dead in my tracks.
I pay attention to the news a lot. Even though I know I’ve been on the Poh-Poh's what my brother calls a "watch list" for many years things could be much, much worse. I could be black. That would really suck because then I risk the possibility of a warning shot being fired in the back of my head.
The cruiser shines a super bright spot light in my eyes so I have no chance at identifying my zebra striped assailant. I don't even have so much as a ten speed Jimmy Johns bike to pedal away on. I ask myself a silly question as a back up cop car pulls up as well. Do I really have any inertia left to play a good ole fashion game of cops and robbers with these guys? Shouldn't I at least be allowed at the very minimum a big plastic Hot Wheels Big Wheeler?
I make sure not to budge an inch as Officer Redinger accosts me. I'm not even gonna raise up my hands and I'm DEFINITELY not gonna wield my cellphone cuz that will be construed as a gun and I will be shot and written up DOA. (Dead On Arrival).
I realize I'm still holding a big huge black trash bag full of a two weeks worth of clothes. I feel compelled to say something as clearly the Manheim TWP. Officer is waiting for me to speak first.
I look down at my enormous trash bag as I notice Officer Redinger eying it up. He probably is much like Dauphin County's police officer Officer Sallada and assumes I got a big ole bomb in there. Maybe I should crack a joke like they taught us in trucking school to break the ice. People always had me pegged for a serial killer so I may as well play into it.
I looked directly at Officer Redinger. "There's no body in here I promise."
I didn't so much as see him crack a smile. Figures I thought to myself, Now I know he must be one of my brother's buddies for sure with such a dry hallelujahfied sense of humor.
The officer ignored my joke and finally spoke. "Is there some reason your walking along the highway?"
I didn't tell him I was Officer Steidler's older brother neither did I have any intentions of letting it known who I was. I was mostly curious about "who" called the cops in the first place and why was it imperative for a backup cop for a fella strolling on the shoulder of a highway? Did I not see people walking along the highways all the time? Was there some big brightly lit illuminated sign reading "Do Not Walk On The Highway"?
I kept my cool but gave an honest answer. I learned once twenty years ago that cops can be pretty lenient with you if you don't lie to them. One time when I was seventeen I ran a quick changing red light and didn't see the cop sitting there on the corner until the last second. I was with a buddy and quickly exited into a dark alley thinking I got away with running the light but he caught me. Because I admitted I was intentionally playing hide and seek he only wrote me one ticket instead of an additional one for eluding an officer.
I sized up the officer with my eyes. He was much built like a football player. I guess he didn't need the 32 inch waist to make other body parts appear larger ha ha. I joked to myself. We all giggled when Channel 8 news described my brother (officer of the year) as "fit and lean" insinuating that the other Poh-pohs should be running those 5ks and doing those chin-ups. I'm not sure my little brother has ever broken some of my fitness records but it was duly noted that when the Ephrata Police picked me up on a federal "E-mail" warrant years ago (see my book A Flagger's Journey) that they described me as only "medium" build despite me cranking out 500 push-ups every other day. But I'll keep my twenty second bragging rights in the SVPS 5k run I jogged in 2013 where the Tiger Bear was a few steps behind. I'm quite certain Kim L. will be brought up to speed "Some Day."
I looked directly at the officer but because of the huge spot light was not able to read his facial expressions. "Oh my paycheck is screwed up once again so I'm just blowing off some steam."
The officer still appeared confused. "Along the highway?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Sure why not? We don't get many nice nights like this. It hasn't cooled down like this in a good while."
The spotlight was blinding my eyes to the point I couldn't see the cars whizzing by. Mr. Football Cop was still staring at me. I was just hoping he wasn't gay. I've heard these fellas in blue tend to get excited and have a history of getting frisky. I've watched a lot of cop TV shows and I know they tend to grope around in unusual places. My sister even thought once that Mike Row from the TV show "Dirty Jobs" needed to visit the prisons and see what "Bird Watching" was really all about.
I noticed the officer eying up my mid-section. "You got anything in your pockets that will poke me?"
Oh shit here we go I thought to myself, Does it really take a full cavity search for simply walking along the highway? Is all this some sort of prelude to writing up a simple ticket? Is this even legal?
The back up cop took my blue backpack away from me and took it back to his car. I'm not on paper. I know all this illegal search activity is extremely illegal but unfortunately I'm just a law abiding truck driver and not some senator's son so this won't pay out a jackpot for me.
Officer Redinger ignored my request for some water and pushed his hand into my pocket. There of course was a big bulge in there but that was only my wallet that he insisted on pulling out. He removed my drivers license and walked back to his cop car to run my drivers license.
Meanwhile 20 minutes later
I don't know who Officer Redinger was on the phone with while I stood on the highway shoulder getting blinded like a deer in the headlights but it was indeed an awfully long phone call. Does it really take this long to write a ticket? Who on God's green earth is this factotum on the phone with?
The woo woo lights gyrated airing his shadow when he finally ended his private phone call and returned to accost me.
"I've got good news and I've got bad news." Were Officer Redinger's verbatim words.
I was confused. Where was this "News" coming from? Weren't the officers allowed to make their "own" decisions when it came to simple J-Walking citations? Did the wealthy Manheim Township Dictators really have to flaunt their abuse of power over something this stupid as walking innocently along the shoulder of a highway?
I embraced myself for "The News". I could clearly see this officer struggled with making his own decisions that phone calls were necessary for regular hometown citizens just innocently waking along.
"Okay what is it?" I finally asked.
"I can take you up a few miles to the Sheetz in Ephrata but I gotta write you a ticket for walking along a highway."
I clutched firmly onto my big black trash bag. Really? I thought to myself, Every litter crew and every person out of gas gets a ticket for walking along this road? Does Manheim Township have data evidence to bolster this highway nonsense so I know I'm not being singled out? Where is the sign stating Do Not Walk On Highway?
Before long I'm in the car with the woo woo lights. I still haven't told either officer that I am officer Steidler's older brother because I know that would be futile. He's Already looked at my driver's license. Are there whole bunches of Steidlers out there? Does the phone book show much breeding or is it the "Miller" section that takes up half the phone book?
On the upside I never thought I'd see the day where I could ride in the back of a cop car without metal teeth biting into my wrists but I guess there's a first time for everything. It was hard to believe that I wasn't getting a paycheck tomorrow because Celadon had already initiated ousting me. They were very smart people. VERY smart people. They knew all the UC laws in and out and numerous times I had overheard them vaunting about their success records with thwarting unemployment claims.
They already know they can't fire somebody without a legit reason or that worker will collect. So why not just force them out by stop paying them their weekly wages? Why not just oust them so it will look like they quit and become ineligible for benefits?
There was a cop car security camera literally staring at me in the face so I opted to refrain from too many smart ass comments even though I was still thinking them. A thought suddenly occurred to me. My truck recovery packet stated to save all travel receipts. Was I not traveling on foot back to my car? Would Celadon be required to reimburse me for this traveling receipt?
We reached the Sheetz in Ephrata and Officer Redinger let me out of his squeaky clean cop car with the woo woo lights. I should have at least left a buggar in there for good measure to get my money's worth. I started walking away hoping that he had forgotten about my travel expense ticket.
"Wait!" Shouted the officer.
I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around. I didn't have to worry about him shooting a warning shot in the back of my head because being as we were at Sheetz there were witnesses everywhere.
"Yes? What now?"
Officer Redinger brandished the citation he had written up. "I forgot to give you your ticket. Here ya go."
I walked over towards him to grab my travel expense receipt. I knew the proper thing to do in this situation was to tear up the citation before his eyes and throw it at him but I knew I had a much BIGGER fish to fry. I was not mad at this Canadian Bounty wanna be newby probably new to the force and still in the bootlicking stage. No, no, I desperately needed to know where this "NEWS" was coming from!
I looked the officer square in his eyes as I lightly folded up the ticket. I proffered my right hand out for him hoping for yet another one. I was not acting despite being gainfully employed by the 9Nine acting agency.
He looked at me quizzically.
"It's in your hand. I just gave it to you."
I smiled demurely. "I know but I need another one. Can I have one for Bob Miller?"