If Only You Had A Pallet Of Brains

I was a truck driver making a collection from a unit on an estate. The entrance has an “in” and an “out” with a gatehouse in between. I pull up alongside the window and hand over my paperwork. The guy looks at it for a while.

Guy: “What are you delivering?”

Me: “I’m not. I’m collecting.”

Guy: “What are you collecting?”

Me: “I have no idea; the paperwork says one pallet.”

He makes a phone call and someone says that he should speak to dispatch. Eventually, he sorts it out and then produces a clipboard.

Guy: “What’s your name?”

I tell him.

Guy: “Registration number?”

I tell him.

Guy: “What company are you?”

I point to the name on the driver’s door right in front of him. It’s also printed on the paperwork I gave him.

Guy: “Where are you from?” 

Now I am getting a little irritated by the interrogation, but I do accept that it’s not his fault. 

Me: “Do you mean originally, today, or my last call?”

He looks at me, clearly thinking I’m a smarta**e, so I make something up for him to write on his form.

When I get to dispatch, they load the pallet on with a forklift and then give me a multi-page printout to sign. It clearly lists all the various items on the pallet. This happens from time to time, so I write “UNCHECKED” and sign.

Guy: “You can’t do that.”

I point out that I will have to strip the pallet to check that every item is on there.

Guy: “I checked it; you can take my word for it.” 

I mutter something about “Company Policy” and ask if he wants to take the pallet off again.

Twenty minutes and a couple of phone calls later, I set off, complete with the pallet. I stop at the gatehouse and the same guy comes over to the window on this side.

Guy: “What’s your name?”

I just drove off. I never went there again.