Winnie the Pooh

You see? Give me a little time and I’ll get back to literature, which is after all my metier. Only one of which one ought to have, according to Gertrude Stein, but then she was born into at least moderate wealth.

In any case, literature. Which ought to have something to say about life. Now Christopher Robin used to carry Pooh upstairs by his (Pooh’s) hind foot, so that his (Pooh’s) head bumped against each riser (or, possibly, tread) at every step. Pooh was pretty sure there was a more comfortable way of getting on, but having his head being bumped all the time like that rendered it most difficult for a bear (of Very Little Brain in the first place) to work out what it was.

I know exactly what he means.

The Company has been driving me batty the past few days, almost ever since I got back on the road from my glorious week off. During which, by the by, I discovered why it is that The Company is so stingy with time off; it gives a boy a chance to notice how pleasant life back in the world can be.

I have never, in my short time in the profession, met a driver who adores his job. Hate, toleration, acceptance; these seem to be the usual attitudes. The people who get really enthusiastic about driving truck are the ones who have traded in their driving shoes for loafers, and pad around in same up and down the air-conditioned halls of The Company, loafing into and out of each other’s offices and slapping one another on the back and reminiscing about those halcyon days when they enjoyed the freedom of the open road. Oh, how they miss it.

Personally, I find it’s somewhat like the old saw about hitting oneself over the head with a hammer. Just now, I’ve stopped for a few hours. Haven’t been able to stop at all much for a few days, except to get not enough sleep, as I’m now nearing the end of the second run in a row that is guaranteed to be delivered late. Not, I might add, due to any fault of mine. Loaded late, dispatched late, being required to sit and watch my clock tick down while awaiting approval for various things, a severe thunderstorm east of Kansas City, all of the above and more. Because none of it has been my fault, does that mean they cut me a break? This poor galley slave has been rowing his heart out. Fortunately, it became clear by this morning just how late the load was going to be, and they managed to change my appointment time. It would, of course, have been nice had I found that out earlier in the day. If I had, I could have stopped at my favorite rest area in Kansas (it’s among what Kansans call ‘hills,’ and as a matter of actual fact they do bear a more than passing resemblance to real ones), where there is now a sign proudly announcing that it offers WiFi. The only one that does so in Kansas, as far as I can tell. Could have spent several hours there, surfing away among the rolling hills. Or at any rate getting caught up on email, one of my tenuous connections to the world, and updating this blog.

Strangely enough, I was able to do those things anyway. Here in Colby, where I managed to find service at the Petro. So I put up the entry dated the 25th, and should be able to post this one in the morning. Two places, if you can imagine, in the same state, where I can get the needful. I’m already looking forward to waxing nostalgic about the good old days when I used to get a break, at the top of every flight, from the bumping on the way up the stairs.

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