My parents cancelled their garbage service a couple of months ago. The rates were going up again. Since they live only a couple of miles from the transfer station, they decided to make a dump run once a month and save themselves some money. This all sounds great, right? Well, it is great when my former-truck-driver father is in town. Right now, he is not, which leaves me to take the garbage.
With his humongous trailer.
Our particular transfer station has a massive garage type enclosure in which trucks line up about one foot apart . . . and they all line up
Also, Friday's are apparently the day to take your nicest truck to the dump. "WHY are these people all driving their NICE trucks to the dump?!" I pleaded with my fifteen year old nephew, who took pity on me and came along. "Aren't you supposed to take your crappy truck to the dump in case something happens to it?!" (Something like ME driving a stupid, massive trailer backwards.)
So, now I have to back up this huge trailer into a tight spot between two brand new, very expensive trucks--the kind of trucks that you see parked at the back of the grocery store parking lot so no one will accidentally roll their grocery cart into the shiny paint job.
I am completely sweating and trying to self-talk myself some encouragement. I wasn't believing myself, though, so I wasn't encouraged. I gave a couple of half-hearted tries and could feel everyone's eyes on that idiot girl. My face was so hot, I was afraid it would melt right off my bones. I wanted to just give up and drive off, but I would have had to do a three-point turn to get out of there; and we all know that wasn't going to happen.
I jumped out of the truck and ran over to the guy in the reflective jacket.
"My dad made me take his stupid huge trailer to the dump and I CANNOT BACK IT UP! Can you back it up for me?" At this point, I was wishing I was blond and buxom. I was sure it would have made all the difference. Alas, I am 34 and freckled so I had to deal with regulations. He couldn't get in my car.
Warren, about 50, who had obviously backed up hundreds of trailers of every length and weight, patiently calmed me down and assured me he would walk me through it. I got back in the driver's seat and rolled down the window. At first, he just told me which way to turn my wheel. Then, he stuck his hand through the open window and did it himself. I wanted to cry.
So, in front of every truck-owning, tough guy in this city (the dump was busy this morning), Warren steered the truck into place. I thanked him profusely and he was very kind. But then, I had to get out of the truck to unload the garbage cans. It was humiliating enough to be in the vehicle and so inept that I couldn't be trusted to have my hands on the wheel, but to get out was almost more than my pride could handle. I ducked my head and whispered a repeated, "This sucks, this sucks, this sucks, this sucks," while my nephew and I unloaded and re-tarped the trailer. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
I love you.
I will never do that again.