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Even More Baltimore

At my second pick-up in Baltimore. As much as I hate to admit it, coming out of that last area was pretty cool. I was on some streets with cobblestones that looked like they had been laid in the 1800s, with railroad tracks down the middle of the street. I could look at those streets and the old warehouses lining them and imagine men with wagons pulled by teams of horses making deliveries and pick-ups.
That nostalgia didn’t last long. It was interrupted by my asshole dispatcher, who wrote me to tell me, in his usually sweet fashion, “You are missing logs. Get your logs caught up or Safety will park you until you do”. I told him to have Safety called our Valdosta yard, where I dropped them off, and ask them why my logs hadn’t made it to Greensboro.
Images of horse-drawn wagons dissipated into the mists of my imagination. I went on to get on the wrong road, a toll road, with no money. The last at the toll boot told they would bill my company. I thought “Oh, great. My infamy grows.”
Then I finally arrived here at my second pick-up. I pissed off the guard by arriving. Then I pissed him off by telling him I don’t have a CB radio. He told me to park to the left side of the gate, and was even more pissed off when, ten minutes later, he had to leave his guard shack and walk the twenty or so feet to my truck. I told him I hoped his day got better. Which pissed him off.
Oh, well. It is Baltimore.

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