Young Geoffrey (ed_rex) wrote,
Young Geoffrey

Reflections of a working still #5 - When man meets truck

So a man walks into the office ...

I got to the office early yesterday, because I thought I might need to spend some time debriefing the boss on the Great Big Gaping Hole now grinning from the rear left door of one his vehicles — the one I had been driving the day before.

I'd parked my bike at at the lot, picked up the van that was waiting for me and shucked my leather jacket in hopes of cooling down a bit before I had to greet my passengers. (Wednesday was not nearly as cold as I expected, so I'd worn a much heavier sweater than I ought to have. I digress.)

I fired up the van, confirmed it was fully fuelled and that I had a spare bottle of washer fluid; tuned the radio to CBC in both Ottawa and Montreal and adjusted my mirrors; set the beast in gear and headed on in, secure in my knowledge that I was without blame, but still, just a little insecure about what the boss was going to say about his mangled vehicle.

The SUV was still where I had left it on Tuesday, the guts of the rear door exposed the world, like bones and tendons stripped of skin. I couldn't help taking another look, rubber-necking at my own misfortune.

It being afternoon, the office was a little cramped. The number one and number two guys were at their desks, the day-time dispatcher — let's call him Normand — was at his, and a couple of my fellow drivers were hanging around.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," I called out as I slipped through the swinging gate.

Normand looked over at me, smirking. "Hey, Geoff," he said with obvious delight. "You're supposed to bring the whole vehicle back with you, not just part of it!"

"Hey man! It's in the back!" I said, referring to a dinner-plate sized scrap of metal that had once been part of the vehicle's door.

I took a look at Ahmed, my boss, and was pleased to see he was smiling, but was distracted when Charley, an older driver asked me, "Geoff, do you live in North Gower?"

"Uh, no," I said, "No, I live in the Glebe. Why?"

"Oh," he said, deadpan. "I thought I saw your sweater in the garbage."

"My sweater!" I thought wildly for an appropriate response, but was too taken aback by the non-sequiteur insult to do anything but sputter while the office rocked with laughter.

Grinning, I shook my head and approached the boss' desk to explain just what had happened.

So what did happen? Click here for Dump Truck Horror on Autoroute 40!

This entry was originally posted at Comment there using OpenID, or here as per normal.
Tags: accident, crash, random gloats, reflections of a working stiff

  • The innocence of ages

    To Kingston and back again; a New Year's journey or, Young Geoffrey VS the ravages of age! Our son, the driver (I'm so proud)! Carl the…

  • Memo to JamieWho

    I received notice of your (belated) unconventional birthday greeting on Sunday morning. It was a surprise and good one, so thank you very much.…

  • Cuba: Days 9 and 10 - Sugar Sands and the General's Gun

    The Pedestrians' diaries, parts 10 and 11 Days 9 and 10: Sugar beaches and the General's gun Excuses: the day job, other writing,…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.