Event Managment

My first stop in Buffalo was quite interesting this morning. It was actually one stop consisting of a series of three different events. The first event involved backing off a one-way side street and into the customer’s smallish parking lot. It’s a tight maneuver on a normal day. Today there were snow banks to avoid and it was all made harder with a 53’ trailer. We used to pull 48’ trailers in Upstate New York which was much easier. Five feet doesn’t sound like much, but it is. One day it all changed and it’s been 53’ trailers ever since. It doesn’t make much sense to me because Buffalo, or Rochester, are cities no different than Philly which almost always is sent on a 48’ trailer. Anyway, it took a few minutes to get in the parking lot without ripping off a piece of my tractor, hitting the building with my trailer or otherwise creating an international incident. But I made it.

The second event was the actual unloading of furniture. That wasn’t too bad except the air was only 15 degrees. The customer did not moan about his job, even though I thought he had a right to, especially on a Monday.

The third event was departing en route for my next stop. Since it was a one-way street, I had to make a left and go down the road until I found a turn wide enough to make. (I’ve done this many times before.) I got to the first intersection and thought about turning right. I’ve never turned there because it always looks too tight so I went straight, but not for long. Within a block of leaving the customer I had come to a stop. I noticed that I would not fit because of cars parked along both curbs of the street. I was too wide. This confused me. Why were there so many cars? There I sat twenty-five feet from a church on the left hand side when it hit me: There was a funeral in progress and that’s why all the cars were there. As soon as I figured this out, the church doors popped open and a few pallbearers came walking out with a casket covered with an American Flag. They walked down the steps and slid the casket into the waiting hearse. I was mortified. The last thing I wanted was to create a scene at a funeral, much less one involving a United States Veteran. 

The truck part of my tractor-trailer had just crossed that last questionable intersection when I came to a stop. Now there were three different events occurring in my mind. The part of me that is in-charge of a commercial truck (I refuse to wear the label of a truck driver, a story for another day) reached for the hazard light switch. I had kept a keen eye on what was behind me and I knew it was vacant space. No matter what, I was going to back up and try that right turn so I would not cause any interruptions for the deceased’s family and friends. I kept looking at the church too. People looked back at me. The funeral director looked in my direction, almost with remorse, like maybe he should do something, perhaps move things along. I saw a younger gentleman in a suit. He looked terribly sad with an older man hugging him for comfort. The writer in me wanted to know so many things. What was the story of the hero in the casket? Was that is his grandson looking so bereaved? Maybe it was his son? I’ll never forget the look of sadness on his face. It made me certain that whoever was in that casket was an upstanding human that will be missed. The whole scene made me sad, and it had nothing to do with the predicament that I found myself in. Finally, the photographer in me thought about Miss Nikon who was lying on the floor next to me. Should I take a picture of this scene?  “No, I don’t think so,” I thought, “It doesn’t seem like the respectful thing to do.” I became very aware of all these thoughts, thought there to be too many and decided to focus on the thought of getting the truck somewhere other than where it was. That’s what I did. After backing up, I managed to make a right turn. I drove fifty feet and made another right turn that was successful only because a lady parked on the left curb was in her car and moved for me. Had she not been so kind, I would have again found myself running short of favorable options. After that, the roads got wider and the day got easier.

The above events, especially the third event at the church, likely seem like an unfortunate way to begin the workweek. I don’t think that to be the case. I was proud of myself for handling it the way I did. What if I was just a “truck driver” set in his ways? I might have gotten out, walked up to the people assembled outside the church and started demanding vehicles be moved immediately, mourning or not. “I always go this way, I am not going any other way today” was not a probable use of my vocabulary today or tomorrow under such circumstances. What I saw once those church doors flew open reminded me that while dragging a 53’ trailer through narrow city streets may seem tough, there are always tougher things other folks are enduring. It forced me to stop whining about the length of a trailer or risk being stuck with the label of “truck driver.” Lastly, I never broke a sweat over any of these three events. In my younger years I might have been subject to panic, especially over the first and last event. At this junction, I’ve come to realize that life is a series of millions of events. We must handle them one at a time, have regard for others and think them through best we can before taking action. Thinking like that can actually help to keep our world less eventful. (I did not have to fill out any accident or police reports today.) Good luck and best wishes with your events. I hope they are always happy for you.