The phone rang out of the blue. Normally it’s a robocall or some scammer who wants to pressure me to sell my house.
“Hello this is Sedrick from Commercial Driving School. Is Chito there?”
A long pause, then I remembered I was checking out their website a few days ago – I must have inadvertently made an inquiry. It didn’t take long for them to follow up.
“How would you like to get your CDL?” Sedrick, the recruiter, asked eagerly.
“Not a bad idea, but I don’t think I can commit to attending class full time right now,” I swiftly explained.
“Totally understand. That’s why we have part time training on weekends 8am-5pm for 10 weeks,” the man suggested.
I was just checking out their site – I couldn’t possibly be serious. After all, I’m busy running a FoodTech startup in Washington DC, and wouldn’t have the time to start a new career in trucking.
Next thing I know, I find myself visiting the school in Middletown, VA, not too far from Front Royal or Fro Ro, the “canoe capital of Virginia.”
“So why do you wanna become a trucker?” Sedrick asked as he gripped my hand firmly letting out a burst of stifled laughter.
“Don’t know if I can answer that question yet – don’t even know if life on the road is for me. Heck, I’m still wondering why I’m here in the first place.”
“Well, I know you live in the District. So do you wanna go over the road for weeks on end or do you wanna run local and get loads of home time.”
“Yeah, that’s the million dollar question Sedrick. Opportunities to make money in trucking is very limited in DC. Heck, they don’t even want you to drive anything larger than a box truck within the city proper. And since I served 20 years as a Navy squid, I’m sure I could handle been gone for weeks on the road. And by the way, I’m divorced and no longer tied down to anyone, except maybe my tenants.”
The school was located on the campus of Lord Fairfax Community College. There would be 8 days of classroom training spread out over the first month then 100 hours of training in the driving range and on the road. The range was located 15 miles away in Front Royal, VA, which was inconvenient since some days started with class in the mornings and range in the afternoons. Also we frequently had to return to the school house to meet with recruiters.
The advantage of having the classroom in a college environment was the use of the recreation center and fitness center which was modern and clean with expansive mountain views. I signed up for the class begrudgingly.
On the weekends, I would be leaving the comfy confines of Washington, DC and spend 48 hours in a little mountain town nestled in the heart of the Shenandoah National Park. I had never considered getting behind the wheel of an 18 wheeler. Don’t even like the game The American Trucking Simulator.
Truckers were foul mouthed and dirty and the work was tiring and grueling. I had an MBA and I was supposed to be dressed in a suit and tie not draped in a tarp with bungee cords. I was supposed to sit behind a desk with an 18-inch screen, not an 18-inch steering wheel. But hosting events and happy hours for RUNINOut was wearing me out and there was no money in it. It wasn’t our business model after all. Adding restaurants throughout the country was our true intent, and trucking provided the opportunity to spread our reach. Trucking also provided the allure of miles upon miles of driving bliss and easy money if you can handle all the bullshit.
When we met our instructor, stereotypes of an overweight trucker in jeans and cowboy boots jumped out the window. Jimmy was every bit 5 foot 8, lean and scrawny. He sported a goatee so thick that he could easily lose his keys in it. He had no mustache and neither did he have any hair on top. His bald dome was so shiny, I had to don Ray Bans to reduce the glare.
“My name is Jimmy – I’ve been on the road since it was sexy to be a trucker, when you were just a twinkle in your father’s eye.
“Convoy, Smokey and the Bandit – I’m not too young to remember when the urban cowboy was idolized and when trucking was trendy,” I replied in jest.
“Dry vans, reefers, flat beds, owner operator – you name it, I’ve done it.”
Wow – impressive – even flat bed, I thought to myself…that skinny guy.
“Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I’m too small to chain down an oversized load and manhandle a damn tarp – and yes it kicked my ass a few times. But it sure as hell paid a couple bucks or more per mile.”
A collective laugh in affirmation.
“That’s good that you guys have a sense of humor. One word of advice – you’re gonna hear a lot of crap from me, JR and even Sherry. So don’t take anything personally.”
“We gotta mind our p’s and q’s here, we have a female in our class,” Sedrick added.
“I know why you guys wanna get into trucking,” Jimmy said to our class of seven guys and one gal.”
We all looked bewildered – was he going to mesmerize us with the fun, adventuresome life on the road, rolling in the dough?
“It’s to get out of the house – escape your spouse who’s tired of seeing your ass day in and day out. And for you Chito, get out of that damn Beltway that’s gotta’s drive any driver batty.”
“Oh my goodness, if you only know my tenants,” I added. They put me through the wringer then kick me in the butt on the way out.
“It’s to escape my kids,” said Martha sarcastically.”Yeah, I’ve got three myself,” said Jimmy.
“How many do you have?” I inquired probingly.
“Eight and one on the way,” she answered proudly.
We all looked astounded. How would she do her pre-trip if she had to worry ’bout her prenatal? This would promise to be an exciting and eventful truck driving school class, if we made it out in one piece.
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