One of my first jobs was working for a moving company in
Idaho Falls. We had a contract to
deliver new furniture and appliances for a department store downtown.
The company had decided to try out a fairly new truck. This truck was not really suitable for
furniture moving. The floor of the box
was the height of a freight truck, rather than the lower level for a furniture
moving truck. It also had an oversized
box that hung out over the top of the cab.
One Friday night, we were working to get the last deliveries
done for the week. It was about 5:00,
and I was waiting to make a left turn at one of busiest intersections in Idaho
Falls. There were two lanes in every
direction, but no left turn lanes. I had
pulled out into the intersection and was waiting for the traffic to go by. I was talking to my coworker, when I realized
that from where I was at, the overhanging box was completely blocking my view
of the traffic light. I would watch for
the traffic to stop coming through so I could make my turn. Much to my dismay, I missed whatever little
break there was, if there was one, and the traffic starting crossing the
intersection in front of me in both directions. Only one lane coming from my left could get
around the truck.
I had really put myself into quite a predicament. At first, I thought, I'll just sit here and
make everyone drive around me. But then,
I thought I would just back out rather than be such an obstacle for
traffic. I looked in both mirrors around
the huge box, and could not see anything behind me. I put the truck in reverse and started slowly
backing up. I was almost out of the
intersection, when I felt the truck come to a soft, not abrupt, stop. I looked in the left rear view mirror and I
saw a piece of chrome gently go flying away from the side of the truck.
I jumped out and ran to the back of the truck, and much to my
dismay, I had backed onto the dash of a Dodge Dart. The front roof pillars of the car were bent
back. Behind the wheel was an older
woman with her arms straight out, still clenching the steering wheel, her mouth
in the wide open position, and her eyes about to pop out. I went to her side of the car and asked her
if she was alright, but all she could do was stare straight ahead at this
moving truck jammed onto her dash. While
the traffic was now backing up all over, she was escorted into a nearby gas
station, still unable to talk. After
about five minutes she came out of it, and it took two people to hold her back
from ripping my head off.
The police showed up, my boss showed up, and everybody was
mad at me. I can still see that cop
squealing one of the back tires, unable to back the poor car out from under the
truck even with some air let out of the front tires. I wanted someone else to do it, but I finally
had to drive the truck off of the car.
What a horrible crunching sound that was. Ironically, someone I talked to later assumed
that the car had ran into the truck. I
begrudgingly owned up to what really happened.
About a month later my boss suggested I look for a new job
because the insurance company wouldn't let me drive any of the trucks. I heeded his advice and found a job, in the
paper, at a local gas station. When I
went to traffic court, the woman judge advised me that if I went to traffic
school, I could get some points taken off my record. When I told her I was already going to
traffic school for another offense, she was exasperated, and said “You've got
to be more careful, Paul!” No argument
there.
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