A Trucker's Voice

Beans

As I guided my 18 wheels onto the interstate, I could feel fatigue begin to invade my body. It had been a long day in a string of long days, but I expected to be home in two hours if the weather cooperated.
It didn't. The winter rain, which had been making driving arduous, now threatened to make it downright dangerous. The soft splatter of drops on my windshield became the soft tapping of bouncing pellets as the water from heaven crystallized on its way to earth. I decreased speed and kept an eye on the telltale spray coming from passing cars. When the spray stopped -- a sign that liquid was becoming solid -- trouble would start. Loaded only with empty cans bound for B&M in Portland, my trailer was light and a light load was not an asset on slippery surfaces.
Arriving in Portland, I exited I-295 at Washington Avenue and crept into the B&M parking lot. Although the ever-present steam was rising into the night sky, the employee lot was completely empty. I tried to make a hard left between two buildings, but the truck refused to cooperate and continued sliding straight ahead. Luckily, the absence of parked cars made things easier. I spun the steering wheel in the opposite direction and made a long, swooping 270-degree right turn that lined me up with the alley. I stopped, set the brakes and climbed down to check in with receiving.
When my feet met the pavement, I realized the gravity of my situation. I grabbed on to the truck to keep from falling. The pavement was covered with ice; a thin film of water flowing over the top.
I shuffle-stepped my way to the office door, my shoes absorbing the cold water like a sponge. The door was locked. Returning to my truck, I drove around the building, dropped the loaded trailer, backed under an empty, hooked up the air lines and electrical connection, retracted the landing gear, released the brakes and put the truck in gear.
The drive tires rotated over the water-covered ice, but the truck did not move. I tried reverse and again got no traction. I was wet, cold and tired. After spending five days on the road, I wanted to get home. My empty stomach began filling with acid.
I climbed out of the truck and fell to the ground, icy water soaking my pants before I could rise. I found a large box of sand and began spreading the stuff over, around and on my rear tires, but I should have saved my energy. The tires continued to spin and melt their way deeper into the ice.
As desperation began to creep in, I picked up my cell-phone and called for the cavalry. A disinterested sounding voice informed me that a wrecker would arrive in about an hour. I turned the truck's heater up a notch.
Two cold and miserable hours later a set of headlights turned into the lot. I flashed my lights. The wrecker came a bit closer and stopped. The driver got out and, holding onto his truck for support began surveying the situation. He finally decided that because he would have to drive down a very slippery incline to get to me, I would have to wait until morning. As much as I hated to, I had to agree with him. There was no sense in both of us becoming disabled. After telling me he would return first thing in the morning, he drove off into the night.
I returned to my truck and tried to look on the bright side: I had shelter, a bed, heat and television. I probably would not make it home even if I could extricate myself. Better to wait for the sun and a new day.
As my tense muscles began to relax my stomach piped in to remind me that I had not had anything to eat for more than 10 hours. Since it was the end of the week, my larder was empty. There was no diner or store within walking or skating distance. Then it occurred to me: there had to be thousands of cans of baked beans in this place. I set out to liberate a can or two.
Walking to a side entrance, I glanced at my reflection in the dark windows. I was a sight; a black wool watch-cap pulled down to my eyebrows, a three day growth of beard stubble made my face appear dirty, my shoes squished with each step I took. However forlorn I might appear, I was feeling more so. I opened the door and began meandering down half-lit corridors.
The sonorous hum of fluorescent lighting gave testimony to my solitude in the place. I wandered one way and then another. I passed stacks of bright, shining, empty cans, looked in on an empty employee break-room and then headed down a flight of stairs, my footfalls filling the emptiness with hollow echoes.
Where were the beans?
At the foot of the stairs, I found myself in a semi dark hallway, which I hesitated to enter until noticing a brightly-lit opening at the other end. I stood still and listened. The sound of escaping pressurized steam came from the lighted area. I went forth toward the light.
I was still in semi darkness when a large shape rounded the corner in front of me. I had become so lulled by the hum of fluorescent lighting and the certainty of being alone that the moving figure startled me.
"Who are you?" I said, my voice attempting to disguise my shock, but failing miserably
"I was just about to ask you the same thing," the figure said. He did not sound angry or hostile -- thank heaven -- just curious.
For a couple of seconds, we stood five feet apart studying each another. The stranger was dressed in jeans, a red wool shirt and work boots. He was dry, recently groomed, wide-awake and obviously belonged here. I, on the other hand...
I had better make my reasons for being here sound convincing and innocent, and I had better do it fast. I began a stammering explanation of how I was stuck outside.
He interrupted and asked if I was the truck driver.
"That's me," I said, nodding like a fool.
He smiled and said that he had been listening to me spin my wheels and was just now coming to see if I had made it out all right.
I explained my situation to him and hoped he would understand why I felt such a strong need for beans.
"If it's beans you're wanting, you're in the right church but the wrong pew," he said. "This is the power plant. All the beans are in another building."
He must have seen the disappointment sweep over my face.
"Well, almost all," he said, a smile breaking across his face
He led me into the boiler room where he had a small desk in the corner. It seems that the ice storm had closed the plant for the night shift and he, in his capacity as the stationary engineer (furnace/boiler operator), was the only person in the entire place. He opened an old metal locker and there, stacked in neat rows, was cans and jars of every variety of bean B&M produced.
"What's your preference?" he asked, smiling broadly as I gaped.
I chose two cans of B&M original.
We made small talk for a few minutes and then he led me back to the outside door via a more direct route.
I thanked him profusely and sloshed my way back to the relative comfort of my truck.
After pulling my privacy curtains tight and locking the doors, I stripped out of my wet clothing and donned a dry set. I sat down on my bunk, gave a silent prayer of thanks and enjoyed eating every single bean. Never had so simple a meal tasted so good.

Category: General