Through the Eyes of a Delivery Goddess |
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One February night, the roads were dry for the most part, but when I came to an intersection where I made a right to turn toward the Post Gazette Depot, the back end of the truck kicked sideways on me; I knew the intersection was a sheet of ice. Since the construction of the three newer homes on the upper side of the T-shaped interesection, there has been a very bad case of "Run-Off" and no one seems to be responsible enough to install a storm drain or french drains, or any form of water retention that would avoid total ice-over at that intersection, even when the rest of the roads are, for the most part, dry. I made a mental note, since I would be coming back through that intersection on my way back, between picking up my papers and starting my route. On the way back, I started to back down on my speed fairly early, knowing I was going to hit black ice soon. The speed limit on the road is only 35, and I was well under 20mph when I felt the truck start to skid and accelerate, even though I was pushing on the brake pedal. I lifted my foot off of the brake, down shifted into first gear, threw the truck into four wheel drive and tapped the gas pedal in case I could pull myself out of the slide. I even thought quickly enough to turn the steering wheel to the left in case I hit some dry pavement out on the main road, the front wheels would catch the dry pavement and turn me toward the intended direction. ...No luck. The truck slid straight through the intersection and smack ... and I mean SMACK into the guard rail. I was glad that they installed the guard rail the previous spring; before that, there were to big blocks of cement that would probably have allowed any vehicle to squeeze between, then drop off onto the field about ten feet below. I was FURIOUS. I had known there was ice, and STILL, I ended up flying through the intersection and smashing in the front of my truck. I sat there against the rail for probably thirty seconds, put the truck in reverse and slowly backed away from the guard rail. As I turned the wheels again toward the left, I could hear the tire rubbing the firewall.... or fender. I wasn't sure. At that time, we had a co-worker/carrier that was having some hard times at home, and was taking advantage of my ability to drop the papers off to her at the little store down the road, which saved her about forty minutes of time, giving her forty extra minutes of sleep. The tire rubbed the whole way down to the store about a mile ahead. By the time I got out at the store, I think my head was on fire, I was so mad. I was mad at the township for allowing this to go on - for not fixing the water running off of the yards ... or making the residents fix the problem. I got out at the store, and the gal was there waiting for me. I walked around to the front of the truck to see the damage. The left front fender was piercing into the tire. If I hadn't had big heavily treaded tires, I'm certain the fender would have punched a hole in the tire. I looked at the other side, but it was not rubbing. My friend asked what I'd hit, and if I was OK. I said I'd hit the guard rail, and that I supposed I was physically fine. Normally, she stood and talked to me for at least fifteen minutes about the traumas of the previous day; but I was not in the mood to listen this night. I grabbed the front fender and yanked on it a dozen times or more to pull the fender out of the tire. I got in the truck and turned the wheel, and asked her to see if it was rubbing. She said ,"No, it looks OK." We unloaded her papers from the back of my truck, and she promplty got into her van and drove away. Later, it occured to me that she hadn't kept me the extra few minutes that she normally did. I waited almost twenty minutes until I was calm enough to call the 911 dispatch and demand that they toss some salt at the intersection. I explained what happened to me, and said, "I KNEW it was coming, I was slowing WAY down LONG before I got to the intersection. The next sorry sap is going to come through there at forty or so miles per hour, and end up flipping his car over the rails, he'll be coming at such speed." The dispatcher commended me for my quick thoughts of four wheel drive, and turning the wheels in hopes of catching some dry pavement. That's probably the first, last and only time my reflexes will ever work that quickly. I said, "I'm not looking for a pat on the back, I'm looking for some salt to keep the next guy from doing worse damage." He then asked about the damage to my truck, and if I was hurt ... and if I wanted to file a report. I said I was fine, the truck was drivable, and I didn't want to file a report - I just wanted SALT.... dangit!! He said he'd have someone on it as quickly as possible. Finally, after another half hour or so, the other carrier that had seen me at the little store an hour or so before, called me to see how I was. She said that she decided she'd better just leave me alone, rather than try to talk to me - and that I was lifting the entire front end of the truck off of the ground each time I tugged on the fender, trying to pull it away from the tire. She said, "Anyone angry enough to lift the whole truck off of the ground, probably needs time to cool down." She was probably right. I'd like to think, that if I lived in one of those three homes at the corner, I'd be "man" enough to put in some french drains and storm drains to prevent the ice skating rink that my property caused. Eh- but then again, perhaps I'd be as oblivious to it as they are.? |