The Dream Job
The soft buzz of the telephone woke Bob and he reached for the receiver, “Good morning, this is the six AM alarm call you ordered,” came the cheery voice of the receptionist. “Would you like to order breakfast?” she continued. “Good morning to you as well, I’ll just have coffee and toast this morning,” replied Bob, “Could you hold it for twenty minutes while I take a quick shower?” “No problem sir, twenty minutes it is.” Bob hung up and after shaving took a refreshing shower.
Bob stood at the window while he drank his coffee, looking out over the vast parking area of the Trucktel. Lines of trucks stood glinting in the early morning sunshine, some of the drivers would have spent the night, like he had, while others would have just called in for a break and he could see the golf carts buzzing around as the valets took drivers between the building and their vehicles. Bob would head back to his truck shortly as he had a four hour drive to get to his eleven o’clock booking. He had arrived last night and had made use of the gym and steam room here at the Trucktel before enjoying a subsidised meal then turning in for a good nights sleep in the air conditioned bedroom, one person per room of course. Many drivers got home each night these days but there were still plenty like him who enjoyed being out all week, well for the four days that the working week now constituted. They were mostly older drivers who had been doing the job for years, since well before the ‘Great Strike of 2008.’ What a time that had been, the country hadn’t known what had hit it, when not a single truck turned a wheel for nine long weeks. Before the end of the first week the country had been on its knees and as each week ran into the next, fuel and food ran out, power cuts lasted days at a time, social order broke down. President Blair had held out as long as he could but finally he and everyone else in the country realised that above all else trucks kept Britain moving and changes were needed. Now more than ten years after the strike things were very different and where there had once been a driver shortage there was now a waiting list for every driving job. The fact that the government had designated driving a VP (Vital Profession) had gone a long way to ending the shortage, the police, fire-fighters and nurses among others had also had their professions designated VP. Being a member of a VP meant an Income Tax rate of just 6%, free health insurance and low interest mortgages. Mop and bucket money was a distant memory that was for sure. There were still many drivers like Bob around who had done the job in the dark days at the turn of the century and some of the younger drivers listened in disbelief to the tales from that time, dumbstruck at the things drivers had put up with then. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed, thought Bob, drivers sitting round swapping stories, with each story trying to top the previous.
One of the little electric carts took Bob back to his vehicle, A Volvo Premium. The Premium accounted for 99% of the trucks on the roads these days because apart from being built in The British Republic, and operators liked to show their patriotism, it was a comfortable, powerful, very safe, eco friendly, reliable vehicle. Bob smiled to himself as he remembered one driver who had left the industry saying good wages and low income tax were still not enough to get him behind the wheel of a Premium. What was his name, he had been all over the truck press a few years ago because of his stance.
Entering the cab Bob inserted his PRAM (Personal Records Administration Monitor) into the trucks on board recorder. This was another fine piece of British technology, designed and manufactured by a company in the North East that had started life making a timer that helped drivers stay legal in the days when records were kept on a paper disc and was now a multi national with their system adopted the world over.
The voice of the diagnostic system informed him that all systems had checked out OK and the vehicle could be started should he wish. Bob gave the voice command and the motor hummed into life and he expertly guided the 22 metre vehicle to the exit and down the slip road onto the motorway. The outer two lanes were jammed with personal vehicles crawling forward, drivers sitting glum and frustrated behind their controls. Lanes 1 and 2 reserved, as on all motorways these days, for trucks and the personal vehicles of truck drivers heading to and from work were running freely. Bob set the cruise control, the onboard radar maintaining the correct distance from the vehicle in front, and settled into the journey.
He didn’t fancy the breakfast show, when was Wogan going to retire? Instead he gave the voice commands that logged the computer onto the TruckNet UK Interweb and had the latest news and forum postings read to him by the machine. Bob had been a member from the early days when membership had numbered around a thousand; it now stood at over four hundred thousand and it was the leading voice on all things trucking in the Republic. The Department for Transport didn’t make a decision affecting the roads without first consulting and seeking opinion from TruckNet and its members. After catching up on the forums he de-encrypted his secure Private Messages and found one from Kate, the editor of the Premium fanzine ‘The Twingo,’ reminding him the latest issue was available for download; he would save that to read tonight.
Halfway through his journey Bob passed a rare sight on the roads of Britain a truck that wasn’t a Volvo Premium. This was a lovingly preserved Seddon Atkinson whose driver had always had a strange love for Seddon’s, Bob knew him from TruckNet so gave a toot of the horn as he passed; Mal gave an answering toot and a wave in return.
At 10:45 Bob steered the truck from the motorway, the sensor on the truck communicating with the traffic lights which changed in his favour while stopping the PVs to ensure his progress wasn’t impeded. A couple of minutes before his allotted booking time he slowed to a stop outside the gates of the giant Asdco Distribution Centre, Asdco were the largest supermarket chain in the country and in the bad old days before the strike driver’s had been at their mercy, often waiting hours to unload. Not anymore, high demurrage rates, written into law after the strike, had put an end to that practice.
Bob inserted his CMR Card (Computerised Merchandise Recorder) into the reader at the gate and was politely asked to place his vehicle on bay 847. Once on the ramp Bob again inserted his CMR Card into the cab high reader and a voice came over the speaker. “Good morning driver, my name is Terry and my team will unload you today. Shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes, will you be in the canteen or are you staying in your vehicle?” “I’ll be here thanks Terry, I’m going to have a nap,” replied Bob. Even with the motor stopped the a/c kept the cab at Bob’s preferred temperature, as programmed into his PRAM, and reclining the seat slightly Bob closed his eyes.
A loud banging noise woke Bob and he climbed stiffly from the cramped bunk. It was four AM and pulling back the curtain he saw the warehouse guy standing outside. He wound down the window letting an icy blast of wind and rain into the cab, “C’mon driver, get your arse in gear we are ready to unload you, you’ll need to open the side of the trailer.” Bob groaned, he had a hard day yesterday and felt rough this morning. “Can I use your toilet and washroom first,” he asked. “No mate,” was the reply. “Drivers aren’t allowed to use the toilets here you’ll have to wait, hurry up or you’ll have missed your slot and it could be hours before we get back to unload you.”
The dream had been nice while it lasted and who knows, maybe one day?
© Coffeeholic
These two words don’t go together and never bloody will do 
Think if you’re gonna submit it you need to break up the second paragraph in the appropriate places though 