Movers are there at the beginning point of accumulation and all the points to the bitter end, so we tend to develop a Buddhist view of attachment. We do not covet your stuff. It’s freight. We’ll take the best care we can because you’re paying for that and we’re responsible for the damage claim. But we don’t care on any other so-called higher level because no higher level actually exists. Sentimental value of stuff is a graven image and a mug’s game. The only beneficiary is the self-storage guy. What my customers need to know is that it’s not the stuff but the connection with people and family and friends that matters. Practically everyone I move gets this wrong.
Be nice to your movers. What we do care about is making your transition into a new life and place as easy as possible by being professional and sympathetic. I think that’s a responsible job and a worthy occupation. When we’re allowed to do that, which isn’t often, because most people are more concerned about their crockpot than a proper transition to a new life, you’ll find out that we’re on your side. When people let that happen, they’re always surprised, and they relax.
I entered Virginia and immediately upped my game. Truckers call Virginia the Communist State because of its strict enforcement of highway laws and the harsh state police. They’re especially tough at the weigh stations. Everyone has seen weigh stations, but most people probably have only have a vague idea what they are. Here’s how they work: The federal weight limit for Class 8 trucks (tractor-trailers) on interstate highways is 80,000 pounds. That’s because the road surface is engineered to support that. An overweight vehicle stresses the road surface. Roadways are designed to last a certain amount of time, and an early breakdown of the road means higher unbudgeted expenditures. Municipal finance types hate overweight trucks for that reason, and they transfer that hate to their minions. In Virginia it’s open season on trucks. Other states are less aggressive. All trucks are required to pull into all weigh stations or face a hefty fine. When I pull in, the scale has three platforms: one for the front axle, the second for the drive axles, and the third for the trailer axles. Each axle has its own weight limit in addition to the gross vehicle weight limit. If you’re overweight there’s a fine.
Weigh stations are operated by the state’s Department of Transportation, and they’ll also use the opportunity to check logbooks, truck maintenance reports, vehicle registrations, permits, insurance, and driver licensing. The regulations and compliance metrics get stricter every year, which is one reason I get on my high horse about the free-ranging trucker cowboy myth. There’s nothing more regulated than a trucker hauling for a big company. (I was going through Kansas one time when a thunderstorm came through. You’ve never seen weird weather like a midsummer Kansas thunderstorm. I pulled into a rest area to wait it out and started chatting with a FedEx driver in the lobby. We hadn’t talked for two minutes when his phone rang. It was a compliance operative from a call center in Mumbai: “You’ve been redlined for making an unauthorized stop. What’s going on?” They had his truck on GPS. All FedEx trucks are on GPS. It’s getting even worse. Now some big freighthauling companies have 24/7 video in the cab. That ain’t Wild West freedom, folks, that’s Big Brother.)
You hear a lot these days about driverless cars, but what the people who run things really want are driverless trucks. It’s the missing link. Loads are already operated robotically. When a driver pulls into certain distribution centers, he opens the door and a bunch of machines empty the trailer and put away the goods. His truck is then loaded by another cadre of machines. There’s one warehouse guy making twelve bucks an hour watching computers and robots loading several dozen trailers. One guy is still one too many, though, and a couple dozen truck drivers waiting around is unacceptably inefficient. Real people will want health insurance and a living wage. Better to get rid of them entirely. No theft, no sick days, and no pensions.
Anyway, I always get nailed at Virginia weigh stations. If I loaded the nose of the trailer too tight I’d pop over the weight limit. The last time I was caught it was three in the morning at the Woodbridge weigh station on I-95 just south of DC. They’re never closed, curse ’em. Generally if I’m over on my weight it means I have a lot of loads on, which means I’m in a hurry to try to get them off. So they pulled me in and kept me waiting. This Virginia trooper was really taking his time, and I was starting to fume. He finally wrote up his fine, and it turned out I was over 280 pounds on the drives and the fine was sixty-one dollars. I’m never overweight by very much, so it’s not like I’m destroying the roadway. The trooper handed me the receipt, and I said, “I hope you’re real happy with the sixty-one dollars,” He exploded. He put me up against the wall, yanked the wallet out of my pocket, pulled out my license, and called it in to see if it was clean. After thirty minutes, the trooper returned my license, smiled, and said, “Well, driver, tell your trucker buddies what happens when you mouth off to a Virginia state trooper.” I answered, “Yes sir, I will, sir.”
Happy to leave Virginia behind, I cruised through Maryland and crossed into Delaware. The toll attendant (can you imagine a more anachronistic job?) looked like she was fourteen years old. I asked her if it wasn’t past her bedtime, and she gave me a dirty look. Tollbooths are a particularly vexing aspect of truck driving. They tie up traffic and are completely unnecessary. We already pay to use the road through fuel taxes based on our weight and mileage, so they’re double dipping besides slowing everything down.
The road was starting to get really bumpy and would get bumpier into North Jersey. Up through here you have to keep the seat belt cinched down real tight or you’ll bang your head on the ceiling and knock yourself out.