Prisoner of the Company

Prisoner of the Company

Howard hurried over to the dispatcher's office. He knew his assignment; a three day run out to Cleveland, down to Cincinnati, and back. He'd done this run before,, too, same clients, same details. But the variations were what made it interesting, and he needed the load information in his truck.

He said a quick hello to Gladys, the dispatcher. Howard had been a truck driver for this company for fifteen years now, and Gladys had been here for far longer. In fact, she never said how long she'd worked with the company; some of the drivers joked she'd been there even before they built the building. But she was busy with other reports, so he didn't take time to chat.

He picked up his packet and looked it over. Most of it was just a glance, all as expected. He noted that the trailer was already loaded and hitched, and that the weight page was already filled out. All the paperwork was filled out, except departure time in his log, and he could just pull out.

"I'm off." he said. "See you in a few days."

He headed out, over to the back side of the building. They always parked his truck at the back side of the building. He didn't blame them, really. She had many miles behind her. Of course, he knew they'd like to get rid of it, on of the oldest in the companies fleet. No doubt they would have sold it, too, if he didn't keep requesting it for runs. Anytime he didn't have a hazmat, or excess weight load, in fact.

Another driver, George, waved to him, from the side of another truck. One of the brand new- automatic transmission semis. George was just a few years younger than Howard, but had worked as a roughneck for a few years before driving trucks; he'd only been with the company a few years. Howard waved, checked his watch, and strolled on over.

"Hey, Howard!" George said, stepping out of his cab. "You've got that Cleveland run today, right?"

"Yea," Howard nodded, "Ready to get on the road."

"I'm sure." George said. "I'm down to Florida myself, but the return leg is flex - a load of fruit, they haven't decided where they want to ship it yet. Probably won't until I'm an hour underway."

"Yea, I did plenty of those types of runs." Howard replied. In fact he hated Florida. Too hot, even for an hours visit. "Still do, sometimes; thy can't always be avoided." Per the union contract, all of the companies drivers bid on routes, based on seniority. The newest drivers tended to get stuck with the less desirable routes, such as flex routes or others where their destinations might be changed on route. Those with too little seniority to get routes were slated to fill in and other quick-schedule jobs.

"You know," George said, "I don't really see why you haven't left. Gone on to be an owner-operator, and haul loads on contract. You wouldn't have trouble getting loads, and the pay is better. And the company would probably sell you that old truck you like."

That wasn't quite true, Howard knew; truck driving is not exactly a high-paying profession, and being an owner-operator carries with it fair risk. But he probably would get pain better; union or no, their pay wasn't great. But there were other reasons.

"I'd never be able to get insurance for my wife, Wendy." he said. "They give us a pretty good deal, here."

George shrugged. "There are other options out there; I'm sure you'd be able to find something."

"Other options for other people," he said. "Not for us." He shrugged. "But it's not bad. I like the stability."

"Whatever you like." George said. "For me, as soon as I get a few more years experience, I'm going to turn independent."

"Well, good luck with that." Howard said. "I should get rolling. Good luck with your Florida load."

"Drive safe," George said. "Good journeys."

Howard nodded and headed back to his truck, performing his walk around inspection. Isis, he called it, for the Egyptian god of beginnings. He had studied philosophy in school,a end gotten his BA - but found he liked driving trucks instead. He thought back on his decision, sometimes, but didn't regret it. He liked the job, most of the time. But as he got up in the cab, he thought about what George had said. He liked the stability of working for a big trucking company, but there was an appeal to working for himself. But there was simply the matter of insurance, and as he'd told his fellow driver, he wouldn't be able to get individual insurance for his wife, not affordably, anyway.

Well before they'd met in college, Wendy had fought a long battle with leukemia. Eight when diagnosed, she'd grown up a survivor, and and for more than ten years she had endured round after round of chemotherapy. She had been off all treatment for many years now, and considered cured, but there was always risk. Risk that the cancer, dormant for many years, would return. and risk that, because of the powerful drugs she'd received, another cancer was waiting to develop. It was the dark fear they lived with. And it was a risk that made any insurance company take one look at her history and turn away. Howard had looked, but if he left the company, he'd never be able to get insurance they could afford. Though his pay was less than he could get elsewhere, the company paid seventy-five percent of insurance. The truth was, he liked the security of the steady paycheck; he would never be comfortable working on contract anyway. But he knew, if he did go elsewhere, he probably could make more.

Of course, few of his coworkers knew about his wife's history. But the company knew he stayed because of the insurance; they knew he wasn't going to leave. He was on good terms with them; they liked him, knew he was a safe and reliable driver. But they had him firmly in their grip, and they knew it. They weren't afraid to push him to taking long or rough routes, 'as a favor,' and expecting more overtime than he was perhaps willing to put in.

He'd done alot for the company, too. He'd gotten his hazmat and double endorsements because he knew it would put him in greater stead with them, yet it had gained him little; perhaps he was a little more value to them, but they still had him under their thumb.

Well, he did what he had to do for Wendy. So be it, he still liked the job.

Up in the cab, he started Isis, and finished the last steps of his pretrip inspection, then used his company-issued cellphone to call the dispatcher and indicate he was pulling out. A quick note in his log, and ready to go. He slipped the truck into gear and pulled away, a tight loop around the corner of the building, watching carefully for other trucks as he pushed into second and rode along the side of the building, and then up to the road entry. He watched traffic, then pulled out, shifting into second as he came around. Once he got into the lane, cars would slow or go around, but he still floored the throttle as he straightened out, and punched the clutch as the shifted into third.

Isis was an old truck, there was no doubt of that. But Howard liked her. She had a cab-over-engine configuration, gving a high, clear view ahead, and handled nicely. The straight six diesel was a little underpowered, but Howard knew to work the five speed gearbox to get what he needed. One of many reason he like her; he knew every sound she made, could tell by feel what she needed. He liked that he had to listen to her, to work to get the most out. She did what was needed; he felt the engine roar as he revved the engine and hit gears to accelerate up to road speed.

It felt good to be on the road. He might be a prisoner of the company, but at least he did like his job.