Bruce A. Borders: March 2012

Monday, March 26, 2012

Backing Up

Unlike some truck drivers, I actually like backing up. The smaller the space and the more difficult the situation, the better. I just like the challenge. However, that wasn’t always the case. When I first started driving a truck, the first place I was sent served to create a lot of frustration and left me wondering why I ever decided to become a truck driver.

I’d arrived at my delivery destination just after sunup on a bright summer day. The dock I was supposed to back into was an inside recessed dock with no lights. Lights may seem unnecessary since it was daylight but, for those of you who may not know, the bright sun outside makes for a very dark hole inside. The end of the trailer disappears once it goes through the door. In effect, I was backing into a building blindly. To make matters worse, there was no room to get the truck and trailer lined up straight with the dock before backing up. And with the many smaller buildings, machinery, and piles of supplies all strategically placed in the way, I had to negotiate a virtual maze – with little room to spare. Somehow, they expected me to get the trailer backed into the dock and have it end up straight. But, as the guard pointed out, I was a “professional” driver.

I’m sure the dockworkers, and everyone else who gathered to watch, were not at all impressed by my lack of proficiency at my job, but they didn’t say anything. They all waited patiently until I’d finally gotten the trailer into position so they could unload it. Both their silence and patience were remarkable considering it took over an hour before I was done.

Of course, with practice, backing up became much easier and before long I looked forward to what the next challenge would be. After 10 hours or so of highway driving, backing into tight places was a welcomed change of pace.

With the driving job I have now, I don’t do much backing, usually only once a day. The nice thing is I don’t have to put the trailer into a particular spot, I can choose from any number of open slots. Some drivers might instinctively pick the easiest ones but I like to look for the most difficult. It provides something to test me and keeps me in practice.

Over the years, I have kept a mental list of some of my favorite backs. Generally, to make the list there needs to be not enough room and multiple turns involved. A real life labyrinth – in reverse. Yes, I do like backing up.

More than a year after that first backing fiasco, I was again sent to the same warehouse where I’d made my first delivery. For a long time, I’d wanted to return and was glad to finally have the chance to see if it was really all that difficult or not. To see if the months of practice of backing through small alleys and into docks made for much smaller trucks had paid off.

Conditions were nearly the same when I arrived – a bright, sunny, summer morning, the same obstacle course to maneuver through and a dark building to back into. The same guard was on duty and I recognized many of the same dockworkers. I hoped none of them remembered me. That dream was short lived as one of them instantly smiled and asked if I’d had any practice since I’d been there. I laughed and said, “I guess we’ll see.”

While they all waited, I got the truck into position and backed into the building, relying on feel when the back of the trailer disappeared. This time, in less than three minutes, I was ready to be unloaded. Apparently, at some point during the year, my truck had drastically shrunk. No one applauded or anything, but judging from their faces, I’d say they all were happy I’d learned to like backing up.

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter has over 500 songs and 9 books. Over My Dead Body, and The Journey, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit http://www.bruceaborders.com/. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders

Monday, March 19, 2012

Fire Drill

I’ve always had a proclivity for getting into trouble – even when I technically did nothing wrong. As a result, I made more than my fair share of trips to the Principal’s Office in my school days. The first time was in Kindergarten. Yep, I started early.

It was the first fire drill of the year. The fire alarm sounded and the teacher, Mrs. Dietrich, lined us up at the door. I was next to last with my friend Doug behind me. After we all were ready, the teacher opened the door and told us to follow the person in front of us. Then we filed out the door into the hall. Things went well until we reached the main hallway. With two classes each of Kindergarten through third grade, a lot of kids filled up the place, all of them bigger than me - and taller. Pushing and shoving the students mingled together and not being able to see over anyone, I got lost among the crowd. My friend and I were left standing still in a hall full of people, all seemingly going different directions.

Knowing there was no way to find my class, I said to Doug that if the building was on fire the most important thing was to get out, not find our classmates. He agreed. So, we fell in line with the nearest class and followed them out the door. Several minutes later (longer than usual I discovered), the bell rang to let us know we could return to our classrooms. Feeling proud of ourselves for solving our problem and finding our way safely out of the building, my friend and I returned to our class. The instant we walked in, we knew we were in trouble. The look on the Mrs. Dietrich’s face told us she was upset before she even spoke. When she did speak, it was to tell us to report to the Principal’s Office immediately. We did, but all the way, I was wondering what exactly the problem was. We had gotten out of the building. And, we had returned safe and sound to class.

Arriving at the Principal’s Office, he enlightened me. We suffered through a short lecture about how the school was responsible for our well-being and how when we weren’t present for roll call with our class it was cause for alarm – and not just a fire alarm. Mrs. Dietrich had reported us as missing and that was the reason for the extended stay outside. He said if this had been an actual fire, we could have endangered the lives of the firemen who would have had to come look for us. I think the idea was to either make us feel bad or scared - perhaps both.

Always willing to argue the finer points of logic, even at age five, I finally spoke up. I explained that we’d become lost and couldn’t see over the bigger kids. And that since we couldn’t find our classmates we’d followed the other class outside. I also pointed out that this wasn’t an actual fire so, even if we hadn’t gotten out of the school we would have been safe. The Principal wasn’t impressed. I then played my trump card. If my teacher had reported us as missing because we weren’t present for roll call, why hadn’t they immediately figured out where we were when the other teacher reported two extra kids with her class? I still remember the look on the Principal’s face as he told us to return to class.

I heard later that the other teacher had gotten in a little hot water for not discovering us with her group. It hadn’t been my intention to get her in trouble – just to get me out of trouble. Still, I was a bit amused by it all. Over the years, I was sent to the Principal’s Office many more times, some deserved some undeserved. Thanks to the practice I’d had in Kindergarten, I argued every single time – usually successfully. The last time I made my grand entrance was my final year of High School. I had taken the liberty of retrieving some personal property from the trash. Personal property that the teacher had thrown away. It wasn’t even mine but I didn’t think the teacher should have taken the perfume from the girl so I marched right into the teacher’s lounge and took it back.

How was I able to get inside the teacher’s lounge? It was easy; I waited until everyone else was outside - for a fire drill.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Nothing New

When I was in the third grade, my teacher told us that nothing new could be invented because all the frontiers of science had already been explored and exhausted. She said all we could do was to make variations of things, which already existed, like a different flavor of pop or potato chips, or a new style of car. As far as actual new products however, my generation would have none.

Clearly, she was delusional. Aside from the obvious electronic products such as computers, cell phones, I-pad or Kindle, GPS, pagers, and a slew of other gizmos, there is a long list of items that we didn’t have. There was no such thing as software, MP3’s, CD’s, or DVD’s. We didn’t even have VCR tapes or cassettes, although 8-tracks were popular at the time.

I’ve come up with several more examples as well. I realize some of them are simply variations, but some can only be categorized as new inventions. I remember when Hidden Valley Ranch dressing came out, as well as Diet Coke, Doritos, Pop Tarts, Hot Pockets, Gatorade and PowerAde (We did have Tang), Lunchables, energy drinks and more. And I distinctly recall the day my dad brought home a new candy that almost exploded in the mouth – Pop Rocks.

Back then no one had ever heard of Instant Messaging, texting, e-mail, or video conferencing. If you wanted to communicate, there was the Post Office and a very expensive telephone service. I remember when call forwarding, call waiting and caller ID were fascinatingly new concepts.

There was no direct deposit, no ATM’s, and no debit cards. Stores had no scanners either - they would have been rather pointless. Since barcodes didn’t exist, there was nothing to scan.

We had no microwave popcorn, no microwave oatmeal, soups, or dinners. But then, we really would’ve had no use for any of these – we had no microwave. And there’s more. We had no digital clocks or watches, no hand-held calculators, video games, remote control toys, and no digital cameras – we didn’t even have Polaroid cameras. We did have typewriters, but no word processors. (That may have been a good thing – their usefulness was short-lived with the proliferation of personal computers).

The list goes on. Cars didn’t have front-wheel drive, anti-lock brakes, automatic headlights, automatic locks, airbags, or my favorite – no seatbelts!

DNA was only theoretical science, lasers only existed in physicist’s labs (or in the movies), and a computer with less processing power than I have on my I-phone filled a large room.

I know I’ve omitted a lot of stuff but I think I’ve made my point, which is that a lot of things have come along in my life. New inventions. Life certainly has changed. Yet, some things never change. Not long ago, I heard a guy on the radio, satellite radio; say that nothing new could be invented. That all we can do now is make variations of what is already in existence. Really? Must’ve had the same third grade teacher I had.

Monday, March 5, 2012

Buried Treasure

I think every kid dreams of finding buried treasure. The prospect bears a certain charm of mystery and adventure, not to mention becoming rich. For most kids the chances of actually finding buried treasure are somewhere between zero and none. Unless... Unless you bury the treasure yourself and return later to “find” it.

I must have been eight or nine years old when I decided to do just that. I got a shoebox out of my Mom’s closet and set out to find a few treasures to bury in the box. I threw in some coins, a few dollar bills, and a couple of Army men, along with a wooden whistle I’d carved. There were more supposed valuables, most likely junk, but that’s the items I remember.

I took the time to place everything in plastic bags – Ziploc bags. Everything, that is, except the shoebox. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me that the box might deteriorate. I was only concerned with what was in the box – my treasure. I didn’t want the dirt and water to ruin anything.

Carrying my Dad’s shovel with the box, I walked about a quarter mile up the creek and found a good spot. The place I chose was an equal distance between two large thorn trees and lined up with a huge oak tree across the field. I dug a two-foot deep hole in the soft dirt, set the box inside and covered it over. I figured I’d come back and dig it up in twenty years or so.

I didn’t make it twenty years, more like five. We’d moved from that house but one day I made a trip back to check on my treasure. I walked up the creek to the spot where I’d buried the shoebox – or where I thought it should be. The two thorn trees were hard to find with all the new growth, including many new trees. Most of the trees looked about the same size. To make matters worse, the oak tree across the field was gone. I didn’t give up easily though. I dug several holes in a ten-foot area where I figured my treasure would be, but didn’t find anything. Widening my search, I dug some more. Still nothing. No shoebox. No plastic bags. No treasure. Apparently, the chances of finding buried treasure are not increased by burying it yourself, after all.

I never did find it. Perhaps some other adventurous kid discovered it. Or maybe I just didn’t dig in the right spot. A more likely scenario is that the flooding creek washed it away. Yet, the possibility does exist that my treasure is still there – minus the cardboard box, of course - waiting to be found. Granted, it’s not worth much, but maybe it’ll make some kid’s day when they unearth what’s left of the plastic bagged fortune, because every kid dreams of finding buried treasure. I’d even be willing to point them in the right direction – if only I knew myself.