Once Bitten, Twice Shy

If there’s anywhere I’ve been that leaves a bad taste in my mouth, I’d have to say it is the whole Memphis area. If you wonder why, read the post titled “Hell is alive and well in Mississippi”, which took place on the outskirts of the south side of Memphis, on the Mississippi side of the line.
I had a delivery in West Memphis, and arrived the evening previous to my appointment, so I thought I would just park nearby, sleep and deliver in the morning. I admit, the neighborhood made up for in “hood”, what it was lacking in “neighbor”, but I was thinking all of Memphis looked run down to me, so how bad could it be? I hid my truck out of sight behind an abandoned warehouse, and decided to take the dogs out to pee and check how bad/good the area might be. And this is how I found myself the only white person to be seen, walking two Chihuahuas, none the less, down a street where everyone stared at me like I did NOT belong. I was wary, but walked a couple of blocks. An African-American lady was approaching me and gave a slight smile as she said, “I like your dogs”.
“Huh?” I replied. I didn’t catch a word, being transfixed by her garish purple eye makeup, wondering where I had seen that metallic color before. On a low-rider in Mexican town, perhaps? Ah, that was it.
“I said I like your dogs.”
“Oh, thank you,” I answered as I continued, passing a side street from which a very high and/or drugged up man came twirling around in circles clutching a little bundle of belongings under one arm. He seemed not to notice me at all, almost twirling into me as I sidestepped and put some distance between us. At this point I decided to find somewhere else to spend the night, and turned to head back. A guy on a sportbike rode past very slowly, staring creepily all the way, and as I looked back at him, I saw a handgun tucked in the back of his pants. Concerned, I sped up. Passing the last side street before my truck, I noticed about 5 or 6 African-American men approaching. They were whistling and calling to me…..”Where are you going so fast, sweetheart?”, “She’s sleeping in MY bed tonight”, “Come back , baby”.
At least half of them were carrying handguns, and made no attempt to hide it. I took a quick right, leaped into my truck, locked the doors and drove away as fast as I could. As I entered the nearest truck stop, one of the truckers said over the CB radio, “Wow, look at (insert my trucking company’s name)! That bitch needs the ‘fine’ fucking slapped out of her.”
The truckstop was looking no better than where I had come from. A young, rather redneck guy that was parked next to me, rolled his window down and said, “Turn your radio off, girl. You shouldn’t have to hear these guys talking about you. I’ll be here all night. I’ll keep my eye on you. You’ll be ok. You let me know if you need anything. I don’t want you walking to the building alone at night.”
“Thank you, “ I said, thinking maybe it was better to let one stranger help me than try to trust 150 disgusting men. It panned out. Donny was very respectful and polite, and did indeed walk me inside every time I needed to go, and didn’t let me out of his sight. While I was wary of him, I do think I slept a little better knowing he was right there.
On a side note, I discovered that as I was cleaning my truck that day, I had accidently reversed the plug for my fridge, which turns it into a heater, and therefore all my food was cooked. Even my milk and yogurt. I was very disappointed. It was a sad moment.

Of California, Pansy, and The Days Inndian

After the run to B.C. at breakneck speed, or more accurately- 100 kph, combined with 13 hours of driving a day equaling over 700 miles a day, I was tired. But there was no time to rest. California was calling, and far be it from me to slow down and breathe, so off I went. It took me a day and a half to run out of hours, so I parked to do a 36 hour break, which resets my available hours to 70. I was in Willows, California, a quiet peaceful little town, where I parked behind a Days Inn in an empty lot, which just happened to be beside a Starbucks. I relaxed, took my dogs for a 2 hour walk, hacked the Days Inn Wireless password and spent entirely too much time online and sleeping. But I needed it. I slept for 11 hours straight. The next day was just as relaxing and exactly the same, except I needed to be up at midnight to get to my delivery on time. It was rather warm out, so I decided to change things up and sleep naked. Bad idea. I had been in bed for about an hour when the manager of the Hotel…..aka the Days (East) Inndian, was banging on my door and yelling at me to get up.

DAYS INNDIAN: Come down from your truck right now!
LIZZY: One minute!
DI: No one minute! NOW!
LIZZY: You are going to HAVE to give me a minute!
DI: No minute! I am calling the police! This is private property!
LIZZY: GIVE ME ONE MINUTE!!!!
DI: Come down from there right now! That’s it! I will call a tow truck!

I struggled angrily into my clothes and got up in the front seat and rolled down the window. I was not a happy camper.

LIZZY: I have been here since yesterday, I am neat and tidy, and quiet. I am not bothering anybody, or getting in the way. What is the problem?
DI: This is private property. You can’t park here.
LIZZY: There were no signs regarding trespassing.
DI: No need for signs. It is the DAYS INN!
LIZZY: Look, I’ve been here since yesterday. I am leaving at midnight. Can’t you just let me stay a few more hours?
DI: No. Leave right now. I am calling the police……unless you give me money.
LIZZY: I’m pretty sure extortion is illegal.
DI: Give me $35 dollars and we’ll call it even.
LIZZY: What???
DI: I call police.

I threw some money at him and he slinked away. But then I thought to myself…. “are you just going to get walked on again? NO!” So I dressed up neatly, put on my bravest face and marched into the office demanding to speak with the Days Inndian.

LIZZY: How dare you treat me the way you did? I am leaving, and I want my money.
DI: No money.
LIZZY: Give me my money.
DI: No
LIZZY: Oh, so this is how they teach you to treat women in India? Like garbage? With zero respect or consideration? Why didn’t you speak to the men who were parked there? Why did you pick on me? Oh wait, I know….because I’m female!!!!
DI: I do not hate women. I am just telling you the rules. And I make the rules. You need to leave.
LIZZY: I will when you give me my money. Or would you prefer I go across the street to that police station and report you for extortion? Cause I’m pretty sure telling someone to give you money to stop you from calling the police is illegal.
DI: It was money for parking.
LIZZY: Interesting, because that’s not what you said. You said to give you money or you call the police. Oh, right, this is where you pick on me because you think I’m a helpless female. You WILL give me my money now.
DI: Get your truck out of here.
LIZZY: Only too happy to.

Days Inndian fairly threw my money at me, which I snatched, and snapped, “You are the lowest class person imaginable. Congratulations.”
He was fuming, and so was I but I hopped into my truck and moved down the street to where it was safe and people weren’t the scum of the earth. Then my brave façade crumbled, and yes, I cried. I admit it. I can be one tough girl when I am forced to be, but it stresses me out because it’s really mostly an act that I have perfected out of survival instincts. I angrily fired off a report to Lada about the events, but he is depressed lately and was not there for me. I simply got a “good night” message from him.
Also just after these events, I got a text from Pansy.

PANSY: I kinda miss you.
LIZZY: I gotta sleep. Goodnight.
PANSY: You suck. Goodnight. I love you. Does that scare you?
LIZZY: No, because I know it’s not true.
PANSY: Well, I do. And when you see me, try not to strip me down and take advantage of me right away. At least say hi first.
LIZZY: ??? Are you drunk???
PANSY: I only had a couple beers. I can’t stop thinking about you, though.
LIZZY: Goodnight, Pansy.
PANSY: Goodnight. Sweet dreams.

Flashback #2- Hell is Alive And Well In Mississippi, February, 2005

During my first year of trucking I was working for Schneider National, and still getting a feel for things. I had not yet figured out where to go and where to stay away from at all costs.
I had a load coming out of Olive Branch, Mississippi, going back to Canada. I decided to stop at a pilot there and fax my border paperwork. It was a beautiful day and I was happy, wearing my pink sunglasses and pink top, and looking very girly in general. I hopped out of my truck and headed for the building with a spring in my step. I was about to pass a guy who was coming towards me when he suddenly put his hand on my arm. Taken aback by this douchebag, I spun to face him.

DB: Get in my truck.
Lizzy: Excuse me???
DB: (looking a bit bewildered) Get in my truck.
All of a sudden I realized he thought I was a lot lizard. (Truck stop hooker) I was enraged. I try not to swear so I had to get creative.
Lizzy: (Angrily pulling my arm free) You disgusting PERVERT!!!! You lowdown, filthy PIG! Your Mother would be ASHAMED!!! How dare you?! Keep your slimy hands OFF me! If you were on fire, I would not spit on you!!
At this point he was getting kind of redfaced, as several people had stopped to watch. The truckers were snickering at him. I turned on my heel and put on my “bitch from hell” act out of self-preservation and fear and marched into the building and sent my fax. As I was leaving the building, a trucker came running up with his arm wrapped in a towel, bleeding profusely as police swarmed into the place. He had been stabbed through the arm in the back of the parking lot. At this point I got a little frantic and made a dash for my truck. An African American guy stepped into my path. “Are you ok? I can take care of you.”
“Leave me ALONE!!!” I yelled as I ran past and leaped into my truck in record time, locking the doors. Once inside I took a deep breath and collected myself. I’m safe now. I can relax. I turned on my CB radio, which I almost never use because as a girl the men just harass me. Lot lizards were advertising on every channel, and could see a couple skeleton-like, crack- whore types walking the parking lot. And that was the last time I ever stopped anywhere in Olive Branch, Mississippi.