Esteban smiled as he stared down at his phone, soaking in the numbers on the screen, a sense of comfort and relief setting in before the phone began to ring.
He frowned slightly, a feeling of satisfaction engulfing him as he answered the phone and heard the voice on the other side.
“You probably noticed that your bank account looked a little bit better than you had expected it to today.” Said Broker Mason Adams.
“Yeah I did, Adams; you know, a fella could get used to being rich and living his dream pretty easily. I’m starting to think that we have a pretty good partnership going, myself.”
“Well, let’s not celebrate just yet, Esteban: I still don’t have you into the tryouts just yet.” Said Adams with a chuckle.
“And what seems to be the hold up on that?”
Adams let out a sigh. “It’s nothing major, it’s just that the bosses kinda have to vote on who gets in and when they voted on you last night, the vote went in your favor, but only by one vote.”
“Well, that’s a good thing isn’t it? The majority rules in the voting world, so we’re good to go now.” Said Esteban, a bit of aggravation, confusion and annoyance filling his tone, all at once.
Adams chuckled again, taking on a tone that was riddled with a bit of annoyance and aggravation, himself. “Oh, I wish it was that simple, but the fact of the matter is, you’re going to have to go through another little test to prove yourself.”
Esteban laughed. “Sure, I’m all ears.”
“The bosses caught wind that you’re a classic truck guy and that you had an old F6 Ford that you drive around from time to time.”
Esteban laughed loudly, amused by the implied request. “Sure, yeah, I have it, but I don’t deliver loads with it, hardly, ever. The thing is old and doesn’t have the power the other trucks… they were introduced in the 1940s, Adams: I had it modified but it can, still, only handle payloads up to, about, 10,000 to 15,000 pounds.”
Adams cleared his throat. “And that’s why they want you to use that truck to deliver your freight today; I already have the load set up for you: they want it there by 6pm. Esteban, I can’t help you out on this one or I would…”
“What do you need me to do Adams?”
“The bosses are requiring you to quote the time of delivery and get it there on or before that time, I do want to stress that before is preferred, but it is your truck and you do know it better than…”
“What’s the weight?”
“Ex… excuse me?” asked Adams, bewilderment in his voice.
“I said the weight, Adams, how much weight am I going to have on me?”
“12,500 pounds: it’s a load of curtains going from 42 Printers to SellMore in Flagstaff Arizona.”
“And the company men say 6pm?” asked Esteban.
“I’m so sorry, kid, I feel like I’ve gotten you in over your head and I never intended to…”
“I’ll have it there at 10 after 5.” Esteban interrupted.
“Wh… what?” asked Adams.
“Are you deaf now, Adams? I said I’ll have the load there at 10 after 5; you tell the bosses it will be at least 2 minutes before that time if the traffic isn’t bad.”
“So, 5:08pm?”
“I’m glad to hear that you can do math, Adams.” Said Esteban jokingly.
“Right… well, I will tell the bosses; in the meantime, you get over there and get loaded: the sooner you can get on the road, the better off we’ll both be.” Adams assured.
Pretty soon, Esteban was on the road, talking with The Wheels of Wisdom (Jim) and the Road Warrior (Statler), a Deputy Sheriff chasing not far behind.
“These guys never do learn their lesson, man.” Said Esteban into the CB mic.
“Yeah, come on, Deputy, he’s not hurting anyone.”
“He’s going 95 in a 70.” Said the Deputy.
“So isn’t everyone else; didn’t you see that Grey Honda pass us like we were sitting still.” Said Esteban.
“Yeah, but she wasn’t a professional driver like you.” Said the Deputy.
“Well, I’d love to help you out today by complying, but…”
Esteban jerked the wheel and zipped past a group of road workers, the crew waving their hands and jumping out of the way as Esteban plowed through sand piles and barricades.
But when the Deputy went to make the turn, a giant crane spun around, sending the hook through the car’s windshield and front over tail onto its top.
“Oh, that looked brutal, Deputy Dag.” Said Esteban with a laugh.
“We’ll get you Caslow!” the Deputy shouted over the CB. “You and your friends are going down!”
“Yeah, only if we get caught.” Said Esteban with a laugh.
“That’s it, kid!” Jim laughed over the CB airwaves. “That took the fight out of him, did it?”
“Just flipped, Buddy, on his top.” Esteban chuckled.
“That’s the way to do it!” Statler added. “Show’em what happens when they mess with a driver! It’s about time we started fighting back against the law!”
“You two are next after Caslow.” The Deputy warned.
“Son, you don’t even know who we are or where we’re at.” Jim assured.
Hours later, Esteban had unloaded and was walking through the store parking lot when he bumped into a tall, strapping, longhaired handsome man.
“Hi sport.”
“I’m not your sport, dude.” Esteban answered.
“You must be the runt.” Said the man with a laugh.
“I don’t know you from Adam, bud, so I’m not sure what your problem is.” Esteban assured.
The man laughed. “Adams handpicked you to be his driver, but the fact of the matter is, you’re just a good for nothing, sleazy, lowlife, white trash loser from the hills of inbred West Virginia: you don’t belong out here.”
“Inbred?”
“Oh please, I’ve seen your wife, friend…”
“Friend, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I can guarantee you that you’re only about 2 seconds away from getting the beating of a lifetime.” Said Esteban as he balled up his right fist.
“Don’t get worked up, the last thing I need is somebody of your intelligence level trying to fight me. You’re what, 5’7/5’8?”
“5’10.” Said Esteban.
The man smiled. “And I’m six-feet-four inches tall and weigh 250 pounds: I’ll hammer you into the ground like a railroad spike.”
Esteban sniggered. “I recommend you say your piece and walk away, or we’re going to put that to theory to the test.”
“Sure.” Said the man, a wide grin growing across his face.
“Let me put it to you like this: drop out of the competition you un-educated, un-intelligent, mentally incapable, inbred hick, or you’re going to get hurt; you’re a simple man who wants to have a simple life: this isn’t the life for you. No, the bosses don’t want weak specimen like you; they want big strong and capable men like me.”
“You done?” asked Esteban.
“Yes.” Said the man.
“Good,” said Esteban, a grin growing on his own face as he walked past the man. “see you on the road, pal, and may the better man win.”
“Oh, I will, nobody can stop me.” The man assured.
“Time will tell.” Said Esteban as he walked over to his truck, never turning around to acknowledge the man.
Appalachian Post 
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