If there was a board of Adult Behavior and they licensed people over the age of 40, I would be losing my credentials in the near future. I work for the state. I sometimes travel across the state. Last night I drove to Knoxville. Normally I drive a state car, usually a Taurus or Dodge Stratus. This trip I’m involved in training and I’m what is known as a SME (subject matter expert). I may be evolving into GD (general dumbass).
This training involves the delivery of Dell servers and hand-held scanners to the folks being trained. The vendor of the software that runs on the servers and ‘handhelds’ is the primary trainer, and cannot drive state vehicles. Like a big idiot (mistake number 1) I volunteered to deliver the equipment to each training site (they need the equipment as part of training).
The amount of equipment to be delivered does not fit in a normal cargo van. I discovered that the state has a box truck (much bigger than a cargo van, but not as big as a semi). Said cargo truck is tall. Way taller than any car or van I’ve ever driven. After a somewhat lengthy trip driving a somewhat uncomfortable-to-drive vehicle for 200 miles, my body and brain felt as if I had been Waring blended. I appreciate truck drivers more than ever now.
Anyway, I had reservations at Crown Plaza on Summit Hill Drive close to downtown Knoxville. They were nice enough to offer state rates and thoughtful enough to offer a covered walkway to the lobby so that patrons leaving their car in front of the lobby don’t have to be exposed to the elements. Said covered walkway has a strip of lights (think lights around a vanity mirror in a bathroom, except they have a LOT more lights). Said covered walkway is, say, about 7 and 1/2 feet high.
You may remember that I was driving a truck that is taller than anything than I’ve ever driven. You may remember the subject line of this post. Put those two facts together, along with a 7 and 1/2 foot covered walkway and you can imagine the destruction I wrought when I drove my truck INTO the walkway and wedged said truck cleverly in such a way that backing out would lead to yet more destruction.
Imagine the hotel employees and pedestrians glaring and laughing, respectively. I unwedged the truck, broke a few more light bulbs, bent the metal strip that holds the light bulbs into a shape that would easily fit into the Ghost Ballet sculpture and was directed to a ‘special’ parking light somewhere in East Judas. After my third trip lugging stuff from the truck across a parking lot, across a street, through another parking lot, down some stairs, through the ‘normal patron’s’ parking lot and up some more stairs, I was beginning to get used to people pointing and laughing.
Someday, after much paperwork is filed and people back at dispatch quit pointing and laughing, and after the facade to the covered walkway is repaired, I will laugh. Until then, I feel branded with a scarlet ‘D’ upon my forehead – DORK.