It begins

This morning I went down to the lobby of the hotel that Hill Bros has its applicants stay at around 0600 to get some of that "free continental breakfast" they have down there. Alas, not much more than muffins, bagels and some cereals.

I asked the person at the front desk last night what time the company shuttle bus arrives and was told around 0700 so I sat in the lobby. Around 0730 it showed up with a completely silent driver behind the wheel.

In a few minutes eight of us had boarded and the doors shut, and the mute up front drove off. No one was speaking much, in contrast to the false bravado in the lobby just minutes earlier. The drive itself was no more than five minutes, and no one spoke.

When we arrived at the company our has-a-cat-caught-your-tongue driver carefully parked it off to the side, got out and went inside while motioning us on. If anyone else found this to be odd they didn't say anything. Eventually, we straggled in and were ushered into a small classroom filled with tables, a desk and some chairs. Oh, and an oddly-positioned window in to where the recruiters sit.

Scott, as it turns out, does have a voice and it further turns out he is in charge of the training class. There were a dozen or so open binders filled with papers arranged on the tables with small green name placards indicating who sat where. This being a typical group of truckers, it took a while for this to sink in and everyone sitting in the correct location. It also being typical, one applicant missed the bus entirely and had to be fetched, while several others didn't have the tote bags the company had over at the hotel.

Most of the trucking archetypes are represented in our group. The lone, supersized female. The trucker from Texas who spent four months in Iraq and lived to tell the tale, even though his truck was shot out from under him. The owner-operator who is "parking my paid-for truck in my front yard until something is done about the cost of fuel." The obviously gay or gender-confused guy. I could go on.

A quick thumbing-through of the binder of fresh forms presented to us reveals a process similar to the one I endured at orientation sixteen months ago at CFI. Forms allowing them to administer drug tests, get medical information, talk with previous employers, acknowledge receipt of various pieces of information. Pages to take notes for each video or presentation we receive with spots to note the "three things you took away" from each regurgitation. Probably a hundred pages in all.

We were taken on a short tour of the main building. Short mainly because there isn't much to it. Here is the repair bay for trailers, here is the bay for tractors, here is the driver lounge (including one lounging driver -- nice touch), the smoking area outside, men's and women's facilities, yada yada.

Once we returned we were placed in the hands of a new face, John, the head of the Safety department. While earnest, John punctuated many of his sentences with "Okay" and wasn't much of a public speaker. Emphasis on Safety being paramount, Safety and Ops love each other, if Ops is trying to force you to do something unsafe let us know, Ops is filled with satan worshipers. Well, the last part I made up to liven up my memory of his hour-long presentation.

Gloria came by from the recruiting folks to go over our employment paperwork. I had filled mine out months ago and faxed it in along with pages of supporting documentation which was apparently contrary to the way this type of thing is done. I reasoned with her and, to her credit, she saw I was correct and used the copy they already had on file instead of making me fill out the tedious details of some company I worked at in 1999.

We watched some videos, absorbed a sales pitch for a pin-pulling device and went through a 24 page safety booklet. One of the three things that I wrote down that I took away from this presentation was that I should wear a seat belt. No, seriously.

Then, we adjourned for lunch.