So Who's Stupid?

The question from dispatch was did I want to do a run going from Moorhead to Fargo?

Well, maybe. Do I love driving? You bet. But I know that at the end of the day there'll be another 550+ miles on my car, I'll be buying a second tank of gas, and I won't be able to do any other work. Technically, this run is a short, going maybe 8 miles. I've gotten stung before by taking an out-of-town short and just getting paid for the part where I'm carrying freight, not the very long deadhead before picking it up. So the real question is, since I'm starting from a western suburb of Minneapolis, how much does it pay?

I'm actually shocked by the answer: "We're not allowed to discuss prices with you."

What the hell?

First, I'm an IC, independent contractor. I get to accept or turn down runs. It comes up almost daily, when they try to send me to a stop with a lot of walking. (Slow learning curve, plus they're not out there eyeballing these places.)

Second, we've nearly always actually seen the price of the run at the same time we've gotten it. But with the switch to the tiny screens on the Nextel displays instead of the mounted-on-a-post laptops in our vehicles, that's just one of the pieces of info they've chopped out. Still, we can always ask what one pays, and we do see the info on our pay sheet. These days that means a job number, total price, our share. Period. No detail on where to/from, any extra charges, etc. like we used to get. It's annoying. But to be actually restricted from having the information?

And they wonder why driver morale is so low and paranoia is so high!

Dispatch relents slightly and informs me that it pays "amazingly well". I take that to mean it actually pays me to do the deadhead, and he's not meaning it pays amazingly well for an 8-mile short. But they know what they say about making assumptions.

It's a glorious day for a drive. Full sun the whole way up, expected high temperature of 70, fall color well under way, most of the summer construction, at least on I-94, over for the season. While I usually do 65 on long drives, I've just replaced the front tires, the shimmy is gone, and the car hits a sweet spot at 73. I do note a tendency to let that rise to 80 on occasion, but it's quickly corrected and Highway Patrol presence is nonexistent. After one rest stop including an injection of coffee, it's straight through all the way. Apparently, I've hit a sweet spot as well. When I run out of quickly-found MPR stations, I switch to CDs, so it's Max Bruk, Mendelssohn, and Dvorak to concentrate my attention, and rolling scenery to catch the eye.

The soybeans are ready for harvest, and there are plenty of large machines in the fields, their front rollers like old-fashioned push mowers sweeping the stems into a big scoop that presumably cuts them and sends everything upward into the wagon, sorting beans from chaff on the way. The drying corn stands waiting, green on the bottom third, the tops the careless gold of new straw in the sunshine. Few birds are in evidence, though a couple flocks of ducks or geese V past. The only deer or raccoons are hamburger or shoulder lumps, and any local dogs or cats are too smart to approach the roadway. One eastbound roadside rest stop is closed near Fergus Falls, due to the flooding of the lake that surrounds it. Now it covers it, making sanitary conditions difficult even if one braved trying to figure out where the road ran and the curbs were placed. Rows of orange cones remove that temptation. As I approach my destination I am again impressed by how completely flat the old bottom of Lake Agassiz still is.

Hunting for an address in either Moorhead or Fargo is simple. Nearly everything is in straight lines and numbered, streets one way, avenues the other, heading out from a central spot. To have the address right is to be able to drive to your destination. The pick is an agency in a government building, fortunately with an information desk, spacious restrooms, and elevators. My destination is on the 4th floor, and my contact is... uh, she'll be right back in a few minutes. They're not sure what she's sending out, so we'll wait. Lucky for me, there are comfy chairs as well. They suspect it is a small brochure with a post-it note on it requesting that 50 copies get made, but after all this drive, let's make completely sure.

Now usually when one has to drive enormous distances, it's easy to understand the reason somebody would spend enormous amounts of money to get something somewhere fast. A typical run to Fargo for a car from the cities approaches or exceeds the $300 mark. UPS or Fed Ex are way cheaper, so it's likely to be urgent legal documents that can't wait for Priority mail or need chain-of-custody preserved, or medical equipment or some such. But a brochure going out for copies? And not a huge order but only 50? Hello? Are you insane? Is there absolutely nobody in either of your cities who can do courier work that you can get to do this? No cabbie? Slip $20 to a friend?

While I'm waiting, of course, I don't say any of this to them. Not even when my contact comes back and confirms that it's the brochure that's going out. I just slip the usual polite mask on and get the job done. I do get one clue, however, at the drop. When I reach my contact person there, she looks up and informs me, "You're not Larry." I agree with her. I am not Larry. But it lets me know that at least they have a "usual person" to do this kind of thing. I wonder why he's not available, and whether they'll call us again to return the 50 copies if Larry's still not back on the job in - what- an hour? Are they that stupid?

Or perhaps am I the one who's stupid, driving all the way for an unknown amount with very minimal assurances from dispatch that it's worth my while? Yes, it's been a great day, but I do need to pay the bills too. And the way the system works now, I won't know the answer to the question for three weeks, when I get a list of numbers on a paper accompanying a pay check.


* * * * *

"Hi, Steve, how's the unpacking going? ... Great, glad to hear the kids are helping. ... Fishing later? Cool! ... Say, I saw something cool today. ... Yeah, gas at $2.529 a gallon! ...Yeah, I know, I filled up this morning at home at $2.699! So of course I refilled the tank, every drop I could squeeze in. ... Where? Fargo. ... Well, maybe. I mean, it's a great drive, but it's kinda funny how it worked out, and I won't even know what it paid for weeks. You believe they can't tell me what it pays? ..."