Kristi Cramer's Blog: Bounded in a Nutshell, page 14
July 23, 2013
Free to Read on Goodreads
Read "The Musician & The Alien" for free on Goodreads.
A dual author, dual POV Sci-Fi Short that has a little bit of humor, a little bit of darkness, and a lot of the Blues!
It's too hard to buttonhole a genre, so I thought I'd let you all read it free for kicks.
Enjoy!
A dual author, dual POV Sci-Fi Short that has a little bit of humor, a little bit of darkness, and a lot of the Blues!
It's too hard to buttonhole a genre, so I thought I'd let you all read it free for kicks.
Enjoy!
Hella Mel - Ghost Driver
Hella Mel is a character in one of Kristi Cramer's works in progress - Ghost Driver, a thriller set in 2025. (Alternate Title: Ghost on the Rip Strip/Steak on the Grill)
This part of the blog (from here, back to the beginning) is written in Hella Mel's persona, and is backstory for the book. The project is on the backburner at the moment, but it introduces the setting of the story of Hella Mel and Rhode Island Rory put together the clues that will bring down the most vicious serial killer the nation has ever seen.
Blog entries should be read from the beginning, so scroll to the bottom and start there, please. Enjoy!
This part of the blog (from here, back to the beginning) is written in Hella Mel's persona, and is backstory for the book. The project is on the backburner at the moment, but it introduces the setting of the story of Hella Mel and Rhode Island Rory put together the clues that will bring down the most vicious serial killer the nation has ever seen.
Blog entries should be read from the beginning, so scroll to the bottom and start there, please. Enjoy!
April 19, 2013
A Rare Breed of Outlaw
So you have no cause to think we have evolved into some kind of angelic race, nor do we comprise a den of monsters. Let me assure you that while there is an outlaw element among drivers, it generally consists of an anti-social, almost rabid refusal to form attachments. Neither does our insistence on a rootless and unfettered lifestyle preclude a darkness which rears its ugly head from time to time.
I mentioned that Ghost Drivers are required to have fairly high IQs. Most of us are slightly above average, around 110-120. I believe this was a big factor in creating the Guild. We could all perceive the need to organize, and the benefits of doing so.
That being said, some Ghosts have very high IQs, like in the genius range. With all the sitting around we invariably do, those ‘brainiac’ Ghosts will read everything they can get their hands on, take online classes, study anything and everything.
The real geeks and assholes will even conduct secret social experiments on unsuspecting four wheelers or unwitting companions. Real highbrow stuff that the victims either never figure out, or don’t get once they are let in on the secret. Most of it is harmless, almost childish.
A lot of times, the outlaw element is simple illegal activity. Some Ghost who figured out how to jam the signals that the weigh stations receive when they’re running an overweight load. Or how to fool the Fatigue Monitor, or bypass the speed governors to get to their destination faster. Or how to get around Sniffer stations with a payload of contraband. Little cat-and-mouse games, all played with the goal of making a little extra dough. It has to pay really well to make it worth the hassle and the risk, though I suspect some play it just for the challenge of the game.
But for all the shady work-arounds, all the shenanigans, every once in a while someone comes along who has a shadow in them, a real dark emptiness in their soul. I’d like to think we take note of it, shiver a little when they pass by, but I’m afraid most of the time we never even look twice at them.
So how do I know they are out there? Just dim concerns. Some news story that doesn’t ‘smell right’. Or a shift with a Solo who has a hair-raising story to tell. Or something I see that doesn’t make sense, and the more I think about it, the less sense I can make of it.
I’m speaking of some truly bent characters. Stalkers and rapists and freaks who torture animals. Creeps you hear about after they have passed, but you never quite see them face to face. They blend in with the background and don’t draw attention to themselves. You don’t hear them coming until....
Okay, I’m kinda spooking myself, here. I guess I’m just on edge, what with everything that’s going on lately. People are dying. There’s a trail of corpses from Anza-Borrego to Vegas to Portland. And not just some names on the news; its people I know. People I have had cab time with. Like poor Tuscaloosa Tim.
The news services haven’t picked up on it. They’re reporting on it like these are all random, unconnected deaths. But something definitely doesn’t smell right. Both Rory and I agree. We’re going to look into it, see what we can see.
I mentioned that Ghost Drivers are required to have fairly high IQs. Most of us are slightly above average, around 110-120. I believe this was a big factor in creating the Guild. We could all perceive the need to organize, and the benefits of doing so.
That being said, some Ghosts have very high IQs, like in the genius range. With all the sitting around we invariably do, those ‘brainiac’ Ghosts will read everything they can get their hands on, take online classes, study anything and everything.
The real geeks and assholes will even conduct secret social experiments on unsuspecting four wheelers or unwitting companions. Real highbrow stuff that the victims either never figure out, or don’t get once they are let in on the secret. Most of it is harmless, almost childish.
A lot of times, the outlaw element is simple illegal activity. Some Ghost who figured out how to jam the signals that the weigh stations receive when they’re running an overweight load. Or how to fool the Fatigue Monitor, or bypass the speed governors to get to their destination faster. Or how to get around Sniffer stations with a payload of contraband. Little cat-and-mouse games, all played with the goal of making a little extra dough. It has to pay really well to make it worth the hassle and the risk, though I suspect some play it just for the challenge of the game.
But for all the shady work-arounds, all the shenanigans, every once in a while someone comes along who has a shadow in them, a real dark emptiness in their soul. I’d like to think we take note of it, shiver a little when they pass by, but I’m afraid most of the time we never even look twice at them.
So how do I know they are out there? Just dim concerns. Some news story that doesn’t ‘smell right’. Or a shift with a Solo who has a hair-raising story to tell. Or something I see that doesn’t make sense, and the more I think about it, the less sense I can make of it.
I’m speaking of some truly bent characters. Stalkers and rapists and freaks who torture animals. Creeps you hear about after they have passed, but you never quite see them face to face. They blend in with the background and don’t draw attention to themselves. You don’t hear them coming until....
Okay, I’m kinda spooking myself, here. I guess I’m just on edge, what with everything that’s going on lately. People are dying. There’s a trail of corpses from Anza-Borrego to Vegas to Portland. And not just some names on the news; its people I know. People I have had cab time with. Like poor Tuscaloosa Tim.
The news services haven’t picked up on it. They’re reporting on it like these are all random, unconnected deaths. But something definitely doesn’t smell right. Both Rory and I agree. We’re going to look into it, see what we can see.
April 12, 2013
The X Factor
Funny thing about the X.
Whenever the Authorities investigate an Xing, they never find anything. No witnesses. No crime victims; even the Xed driver can’t seem to recall what happened or why. They never contest it, protest it, or press charges. That is one area in which all drivers understand solidarity. Whispers may abound, but on the record, there is only silence.
No official will ever re-chip a driver that bears an X, and that often carries over to the private sector, too. That X, that brand, has a reputation. If you bear an X, you did something pretty freaking bad, and no one will hire you. No background check required.
You’d have to go to great lengths to get an X removed, like laser surgery and changing your identity. Which in this day of pocket DNA scanners and uber-tight identity regulations.... Let’s just say it would be easier to get a sex change than get rid of that X.
I only know of about half a dozen Xings in the last five years. Most resulted from drivers who beat up women; the one who raped a teenage runaway...he had more than his chip removed.
But there is one Xing that stands out from the rest. The kind of story that gets told in a dark lounge lit by a flickering candle when the power goes out due to some storm.
The details have grown over the years until I don’t know what is true and what is speculation layered over hysteria. But the story of Alabama Hal and the Ghost Rose Red; that’s the stuff of a real life horror story.
The sketch is of a twisted Solo driver who lured a Ghost into a hotel room and beat her senseless, robbed her, sexually assaulted her repeatedly, beat her some more, strangled her to death, wadded her up in a sheet as if he was going to throw her into a dumpster, then just left her there for the maid to find in the morning.
A posse of drivers found Hal the next day, and after administering their own brand of justice, they turned him in, almost intact, to the authorities to stand trial for his crime. Only he disappeared from custody, and no one has seen him since. So every knock on a Lounge door during a storm, or hitchhiker in the night.... You get the picture.
Next week: A Rare Breed of Outlaw
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
Whenever the Authorities investigate an Xing, they never find anything. No witnesses. No crime victims; even the Xed driver can’t seem to recall what happened or why. They never contest it, protest it, or press charges. That is one area in which all drivers understand solidarity. Whispers may abound, but on the record, there is only silence.
No official will ever re-chip a driver that bears an X, and that often carries over to the private sector, too. That X, that brand, has a reputation. If you bear an X, you did something pretty freaking bad, and no one will hire you. No background check required.
You’d have to go to great lengths to get an X removed, like laser surgery and changing your identity. Which in this day of pocket DNA scanners and uber-tight identity regulations.... Let’s just say it would be easier to get a sex change than get rid of that X.
I only know of about half a dozen Xings in the last five years. Most resulted from drivers who beat up women; the one who raped a teenage runaway...he had more than his chip removed.
But there is one Xing that stands out from the rest. The kind of story that gets told in a dark lounge lit by a flickering candle when the power goes out due to some storm.
The details have grown over the years until I don’t know what is true and what is speculation layered over hysteria. But the story of Alabama Hal and the Ghost Rose Red; that’s the stuff of a real life horror story.
The sketch is of a twisted Solo driver who lured a Ghost into a hotel room and beat her senseless, robbed her, sexually assaulted her repeatedly, beat her some more, strangled her to death, wadded her up in a sheet as if he was going to throw her into a dumpster, then just left her there for the maid to find in the morning.
A posse of drivers found Hal the next day, and after administering their own brand of justice, they turned him in, almost intact, to the authorities to stand trial for his crime. Only he disappeared from custody, and no one has seen him since. So every knock on a Lounge door during a storm, or hitchhiker in the night.... You get the picture.
Next week: A Rare Breed of Outlaw
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
April 5, 2013
Driver Dynamics - Part II
Today’s truck drivers drive because we have diesel in our veins and asphalt under our skin. We drive because we can’t imagine being happy doing anything else. We are fiercely independent, unattached, and dedicated to our lifestyle. Truck drivers may not be born, but within a year of hitting the road we are made, or broken.
You shake hands with someone and see that telltale scar of the CDL chip on the back of their right hand...you know they are Family, with a capital F.
Okay, it’s not all chummy camaraderie. So we’re a Family. A huge, dysfunctional Family. We have our black sheep, our annoying uncles, our favorite grandparents, our bullying big brothers, slutty sisters...you get the idea. All under the oligarchic thumb of the Fed, the Old Man, the USDOT.
Some of us are literally family; generations of truck drivers going back to the earliest days of the occupation.
I became a truck driver on account of my Dad, but not for the usual reasons. Ben, my dad, is a veteran of two wars: the Gulf and the ’Stan. That’s as much as I know about him. As far as I know, he doesn’t even know I exist. When I was twenty, I overheard my mom talking to an old family friend. He said Ben was pretty messed up from the fighting, and took to driving truck when he came back stateside after twenty years overseas. When I asked about it, about Ben, I never got an answer. That’s my mom for you. So I had this idea that if I became a truck driver I would be able to find him. I’ll let you know if I do.
Oh, and if we’re all Family, then we also have the equivalent of kissing cousins.
Like I said, most of us don’t have homes. We don’t tend to make permanent attachments, even in relationships. Especially Ghosts. When we get off a truck there’s no place to go besides truck stops, lounges, or hotels. No one to hang out with but other drivers. No one to shag but other drivers, or Pros.
Luckily for us women, there’s just the right amount of female drivers. The ratio is something like 4:1. We are never left wanting, and get to pick and choose our partners from a considerable stable, from studs to geldings (yes, we often prefer geldings) to swayback nags.
And we are just ‘rare’ enough to be cherished in our Family. The man who is unkind to a woman driver will find himself staring down any number of protective brothers. The man who abuses a woman driver will wake up in a ditch somewhere, broken and bloody. And if their offense warrants it, their CDL chip will be cut right out of their hand.
We commit our own brand of justice out on the road. It is often swift and uncompromising, seldom wrong or miscarried, and these days, seldom required. You hear about enough chip removals—we call it Xing due to the scar that gets left behind—and you know it is for keeps. You keep your shit together.
Next week: The X Factor
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
You shake hands with someone and see that telltale scar of the CDL chip on the back of their right hand...you know they are Family, with a capital F.
Okay, it’s not all chummy camaraderie. So we’re a Family. A huge, dysfunctional Family. We have our black sheep, our annoying uncles, our favorite grandparents, our bullying big brothers, slutty sisters...you get the idea. All under the oligarchic thumb of the Fed, the Old Man, the USDOT.
Some of us are literally family; generations of truck drivers going back to the earliest days of the occupation.
I became a truck driver on account of my Dad, but not for the usual reasons. Ben, my dad, is a veteran of two wars: the Gulf and the ’Stan. That’s as much as I know about him. As far as I know, he doesn’t even know I exist. When I was twenty, I overheard my mom talking to an old family friend. He said Ben was pretty messed up from the fighting, and took to driving truck when he came back stateside after twenty years overseas. When I asked about it, about Ben, I never got an answer. That’s my mom for you. So I had this idea that if I became a truck driver I would be able to find him. I’ll let you know if I do.
Oh, and if we’re all Family, then we also have the equivalent of kissing cousins.
Like I said, most of us don’t have homes. We don’t tend to make permanent attachments, even in relationships. Especially Ghosts. When we get off a truck there’s no place to go besides truck stops, lounges, or hotels. No one to hang out with but other drivers. No one to shag but other drivers, or Pros.
Luckily for us women, there’s just the right amount of female drivers. The ratio is something like 4:1. We are never left wanting, and get to pick and choose our partners from a considerable stable, from studs to geldings (yes, we often prefer geldings) to swayback nags.
And we are just ‘rare’ enough to be cherished in our Family. The man who is unkind to a woman driver will find himself staring down any number of protective brothers. The man who abuses a woman driver will wake up in a ditch somewhere, broken and bloody. And if their offense warrants it, their CDL chip will be cut right out of their hand.
We commit our own brand of justice out on the road. It is often swift and uncompromising, seldom wrong or miscarried, and these days, seldom required. You hear about enough chip removals—we call it Xing due to the scar that gets left behind—and you know it is for keeps. You keep your shit together.
Next week: The X Factor
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
March 29, 2013
Driver Dynamics, Part I
I’ve already mentioned about the Solos, and how many of them take issue with the whole idea of Ghost Drivers. But drivers in general have come back to the original idea of a brotherhood, like it used to be in the early days. Like you might remember from classic movies like Smokey and the Bandit, and Convoy.
You know for a while there, in the ‘90s through the early ‘10s, things got spread out, and there wasn’t anything like a brotherhood among drivers. All the foreigners coming across the borders from Mexico and Canada, underbidding American drivers. The unregulated brokers setting drivers against each other to fight for the table scraps of cheap rates....
The best thing to come out of the Regs of 2018 was the reinstatement of regulation for brokers, reigning in their rampant greed, forcing them back to transparency and restricting their take to 10%. This paved the way for the collapse of the independent broker system altogether. Who wants to go through the hassle of brokering loads if you can’t rob all the profits you can carry? Now brokers are insiders, working for the Companies. Still not the best scenario, but at least the screw job is consistent.
Then in 2020, the government finally caved in to the Right, killed NAFTA and threw up the Walls. They completely cut relations with Mexico, and told Canada they were on their own. No more cakewalks across the border. If either country wants to export to America, cross-docking is the only way. Bring your goods to a border yard and an American driver will deliver it.
And things got better, at least for the Industry. Almost overnight there were only Americans behind the wheel of big rigs on the highways, and for a while we had more freight than we could carry.
The public, used to the instant gratification of getting what they want when they wanted it, started seeing empty shelves in stores. People were freaking out. Some were even accosting trucks on the highway, trying to get first crack at the goods.
Suddenly drivers had to work together to get shit done. There was no time to squabble and dick around. We were all running our asses off, and Ghosts were hopping from truck to truck like rabbits, leaping in to save the day.
I’m convinced it was no accident that the launch of the Co-Driver program coincided with the death of NAFTA. The Companies became heroes, praised for taking quick, decisive action. There was barely a hiccup in the supply chain—just enough to make a lasting impression on the consumer nation.
And drivers found we all had something in common again. We were doing our patriotic duty to provide for our fellow Americans. As the equipment got more expensive and the pay stayed shamefully cheap, people stopped trying to get rich by becoming truck drivers. It hadn’t been a lucrative occupation for a long while, and the last shreds of the “easy money” myth were finally falling away.
Next week: Driver Dynamics, Part II
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
You know for a while there, in the ‘90s through the early ‘10s, things got spread out, and there wasn’t anything like a brotherhood among drivers. All the foreigners coming across the borders from Mexico and Canada, underbidding American drivers. The unregulated brokers setting drivers against each other to fight for the table scraps of cheap rates....
The best thing to come out of the Regs of 2018 was the reinstatement of regulation for brokers, reigning in their rampant greed, forcing them back to transparency and restricting their take to 10%. This paved the way for the collapse of the independent broker system altogether. Who wants to go through the hassle of brokering loads if you can’t rob all the profits you can carry? Now brokers are insiders, working for the Companies. Still not the best scenario, but at least the screw job is consistent.
Then in 2020, the government finally caved in to the Right, killed NAFTA and threw up the Walls. They completely cut relations with Mexico, and told Canada they were on their own. No more cakewalks across the border. If either country wants to export to America, cross-docking is the only way. Bring your goods to a border yard and an American driver will deliver it.
And things got better, at least for the Industry. Almost overnight there were only Americans behind the wheel of big rigs on the highways, and for a while we had more freight than we could carry.
The public, used to the instant gratification of getting what they want when they wanted it, started seeing empty shelves in stores. People were freaking out. Some were even accosting trucks on the highway, trying to get first crack at the goods.
Suddenly drivers had to work together to get shit done. There was no time to squabble and dick around. We were all running our asses off, and Ghosts were hopping from truck to truck like rabbits, leaping in to save the day.
I’m convinced it was no accident that the launch of the Co-Driver program coincided with the death of NAFTA. The Companies became heroes, praised for taking quick, decisive action. There was barely a hiccup in the supply chain—just enough to make a lasting impression on the consumer nation.
And drivers found we all had something in common again. We were doing our patriotic duty to provide for our fellow Americans. As the equipment got more expensive and the pay stayed shamefully cheap, people stopped trying to get rich by becoming truck drivers. It hadn’t been a lucrative occupation for a long while, and the last shreds of the “easy money” myth were finally falling away.
Next week: Driver Dynamics, Part II
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
March 22, 2013
Name Calling
Speaking of childish, another throwback to the 1970s is the CB Handle. For a while there, when cell phones came out, folks eschewed the Citizen’s Band for their little mobile phones with the smart apps and push to talk. But after 2020, the love for CB was rediscovered.
You don’t have to know a phone number, you don’t have to dial anything. You just set the channel and have tedious or thrilling, dull or dynamic conversations with the big rig wheeling beside you. Or the satisfaction of warning oncoming traffic about accidents, or the bears around the next bend. (That’s a cop to you four wheelers.) Gossip and joke and flirt and instruct. It is an ‘ancient’ marvel whose time has not yet ended.
And why go with the prosaic when you’re talking over the airwaves? Why say “Hey, it’s Melanie, are you listening?” when you can chirp “Hey y’all, Hella Mel is on the rampage! Who’s got their ears on, comeback?”
CB Handles have another function: privacy. With the distances we travel, we put ourselves out there a lot, exposing ourselves to theft—both identity and financial. With the CB Handle, we can keep our public face separate from our public record, so to speak.
Truck stop and lounge purchases go against a credit account accessed by our ID chips—cashiers never see a name. The chip knows who you are, but it’s not saying. The Dash Genie—networked across every truck in the US Fleet—will only address you by your handle, so you can keep that little tiny bit of anonymity.
It’s a trifling gesture, but comforting. For instance, if I get on a truck with a Solo who won’t stop hitting on me, the last thing I want is for him to be able to look up my phone number. Larry the Loser can only use my handle to contact me directly if I specifically allow it. Otherwise, he has to go through official channels, and any message becomes very public. Most hopefuls won’t bother.
It kinda makes me think about the Old West, when the outlaws had names like Billy the Kid, Three-Fingered Jack, Wild Bill....
And drivers today have fun with handles, too. Like Hella Mel, for instance. I started out as Miracle Mel, which I thought was funny. But as I got around, started making friends, I shared time with a few particular fellows, some of whom claimed I showed them a helluva time. I guess. But Hella Mel caught on, and stuck.
Some of the more creative handles out there: Dimestore Joe, Sassy Sissy, Big Grizzly, Redwood Bob, Pasadena Peg, Jubblie Julie, 66 Phoebe, Renny the Rabbit, and Joliet Jackson. Then there’s Texas Tony—he’s from Mexico, got his citizenship before the Wall went up. Tijuana Juan’s family is from Michoacán, but he was born in Saginaw Michigan; he’s a citizen but keeps getting harassed to prove it. Baltimore Bill is from Toledo. Shady Larry is actually a great guy.
Grandpa Jack is retiring, losing his Ghost status and CDL just because he is turning sixty-five, but he is fit, more so than most young drivers. And Solo driver Rhode Island Rory.... He’s my guy. Smart, sexy, honest and...skilled. If I were to get attached to anyone, it would be Rory.
Next week: Driver Dynamics
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
You don’t have to know a phone number, you don’t have to dial anything. You just set the channel and have tedious or thrilling, dull or dynamic conversations with the big rig wheeling beside you. Or the satisfaction of warning oncoming traffic about accidents, or the bears around the next bend. (That’s a cop to you four wheelers.) Gossip and joke and flirt and instruct. It is an ‘ancient’ marvel whose time has not yet ended.
And why go with the prosaic when you’re talking over the airwaves? Why say “Hey, it’s Melanie, are you listening?” when you can chirp “Hey y’all, Hella Mel is on the rampage! Who’s got their ears on, comeback?”
CB Handles have another function: privacy. With the distances we travel, we put ourselves out there a lot, exposing ourselves to theft—both identity and financial. With the CB Handle, we can keep our public face separate from our public record, so to speak.
Truck stop and lounge purchases go against a credit account accessed by our ID chips—cashiers never see a name. The chip knows who you are, but it’s not saying. The Dash Genie—networked across every truck in the US Fleet—will only address you by your handle, so you can keep that little tiny bit of anonymity.
It’s a trifling gesture, but comforting. For instance, if I get on a truck with a Solo who won’t stop hitting on me, the last thing I want is for him to be able to look up my phone number. Larry the Loser can only use my handle to contact me directly if I specifically allow it. Otherwise, he has to go through official channels, and any message becomes very public. Most hopefuls won’t bother.
It kinda makes me think about the Old West, when the outlaws had names like Billy the Kid, Three-Fingered Jack, Wild Bill....
And drivers today have fun with handles, too. Like Hella Mel, for instance. I started out as Miracle Mel, which I thought was funny. But as I got around, started making friends, I shared time with a few particular fellows, some of whom claimed I showed them a helluva time. I guess. But Hella Mel caught on, and stuck.
Some of the more creative handles out there: Dimestore Joe, Sassy Sissy, Big Grizzly, Redwood Bob, Pasadena Peg, Jubblie Julie, 66 Phoebe, Renny the Rabbit, and Joliet Jackson. Then there’s Texas Tony—he’s from Mexico, got his citizenship before the Wall went up. Tijuana Juan’s family is from Michoacán, but he was born in Saginaw Michigan; he’s a citizen but keeps getting harassed to prove it. Baltimore Bill is from Toledo. Shady Larry is actually a great guy.
Grandpa Jack is retiring, losing his Ghost status and CDL just because he is turning sixty-five, but he is fit, more so than most young drivers. And Solo driver Rhode Island Rory.... He’s my guy. Smart, sexy, honest and...skilled. If I were to get attached to anyone, it would be Rory.
Next week: Driver Dynamics
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
March 15, 2013
Ghost Lounges
Was there more positive fallout from the strike? You bet.
The Regs of 2018 had highlighted the need for more parking and more rest stops, but States were slow to comply. The Truck Stop Conglomerates (TSC) capitalized on the parking and accommodation shortage by creating a new hybrid: the Ghost Lounge. Cheap to build, cheap to maintain, and hey, why not charge incidentals to the Companies? It is a decent cash cow. They are exclusive to Ghosts; it was because of us they were conceived, designed and built so quickly.
These sweet little joints are usually tacked on to a new or existing rest area or truck stop, and are tended like a rest area; there are no merchants hanging around to bug the drivers, but there are vending machines where we can buy everything from coffee to condoms. You have to have a Commercial License to get in: Yeah, the chip.
The innovative feature is the ‘sleeper berth’, a small chamber designed just like a large sleeper berth on a truck. They’re pre-built and stackable, snapping together kinda like Legos. Builders can configure them to fit just about any landscape and spatial requirements.
Inside you’ll find a basic commode and sink (think jailhouse johns), a couple of lockers, and an entertainment unit that plays satellite music. You can use the internet inside; TV and video on demand too, but only after you’ve gotten your Eight.
By Regs you are supposed to be sleeping for eight hours of your mandatory ten hour breaks. I know, right? Who sleeps for eight hours, really? But they enforce it by limiting the things you can do: that same rule applies to time talking or texting on the phone, too, unless it is an emergency call. We learn to prioritize our social lives.
The little bed is fairly comfy and big enough to sleep two, if you haven’t let yourself go to obesity. It’s not quite like a hotel. The beds are wrapped to protect from nasties, like stains and pests. Drivers have to make their own bed when they arrive and strip the bed and clean it when they leave. At least we don’t have to pay for the laundry service. These berths are made for sleeping—or other activities you might engage in on a bed—not much else.
If we fail to leave a berth in decent condition, the driver coming in after us can complain with the touch of a button, and we can lose our privileges for a month. So we take care of our space.
There’s between three and twenty berths—depending on the traffic volume on the route—arranged around a little lounge where drivers can hang out. We have showers, laundry, real kitchen appliances like a fridge and stovetop, television, internet, exercise room, couches and desktops. It’s kinda like a common area in a dorm, with someone coming through twice a day to tend it.
Maybe you find it hard to believe that such a large group of ‘dirty truck drivers’ can keep places like this nice, decent, and clean. Well, Ghosts don’t have our own trucks, so we treat Lounges like our home. They really are a house of many rooms, and we protect them from abuse. If truck drivers as a whole are a Family, Ghosts are kinda like the eccentric branch that comes across as anal, snobbish and aloof. Solos can only come in as guests, and if the rest of the branch doesn’t like your guest, both of you will be shown the door. You for a month, your guest forever.
Don’t think we can get too crazy in there. The TSC has video surveillance running twenty-four/seven, and you have to swipe your chip to get in. Even ‘guests’: no chip, no entry.
If a Ghost wants to bring a Pro in, she (or he) has to get a chip, too, in their left hand so you can tell us apart. That is actually kinda nice—helps to mitigate ‘incidents’ by keeping the ones known to be diseased and/or abusive out, and lets the Pros who follow the Clean Health Guidelines in.
If the TSC sees you engaging in inappropriate activities or trashing the Lounge, you will have your entry privileges revoked. Permanently. So we have to salute "Big Brother" here, too. At least the berths themselves are private and unmonitored. As far as we know.
Because there is so much down time, Ghosts spend a lot of time hanging out with each other, sharing stories of our latest runs. There is always something interesting given the variety of characters out there on the road, and our freedom to hop between them.
Often there is a lot of ‘sharing sleep’—when a Ghost finds another Ghost or a Solo to have sex with. Or I should say there is a lot of trying to share sleep. At times it can be like high school.
Next week: Name Calling
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
The Regs of 2018 had highlighted the need for more parking and more rest stops, but States were slow to comply. The Truck Stop Conglomerates (TSC) capitalized on the parking and accommodation shortage by creating a new hybrid: the Ghost Lounge. Cheap to build, cheap to maintain, and hey, why not charge incidentals to the Companies? It is a decent cash cow. They are exclusive to Ghosts; it was because of us they were conceived, designed and built so quickly.
These sweet little joints are usually tacked on to a new or existing rest area or truck stop, and are tended like a rest area; there are no merchants hanging around to bug the drivers, but there are vending machines where we can buy everything from coffee to condoms. You have to have a Commercial License to get in: Yeah, the chip.
The innovative feature is the ‘sleeper berth’, a small chamber designed just like a large sleeper berth on a truck. They’re pre-built and stackable, snapping together kinda like Legos. Builders can configure them to fit just about any landscape and spatial requirements.
Inside you’ll find a basic commode and sink (think jailhouse johns), a couple of lockers, and an entertainment unit that plays satellite music. You can use the internet inside; TV and video on demand too, but only after you’ve gotten your Eight.
By Regs you are supposed to be sleeping for eight hours of your mandatory ten hour breaks. I know, right? Who sleeps for eight hours, really? But they enforce it by limiting the things you can do: that same rule applies to time talking or texting on the phone, too, unless it is an emergency call. We learn to prioritize our social lives.
The little bed is fairly comfy and big enough to sleep two, if you haven’t let yourself go to obesity. It’s not quite like a hotel. The beds are wrapped to protect from nasties, like stains and pests. Drivers have to make their own bed when they arrive and strip the bed and clean it when they leave. At least we don’t have to pay for the laundry service. These berths are made for sleeping—or other activities you might engage in on a bed—not much else.
If we fail to leave a berth in decent condition, the driver coming in after us can complain with the touch of a button, and we can lose our privileges for a month. So we take care of our space.
There’s between three and twenty berths—depending on the traffic volume on the route—arranged around a little lounge where drivers can hang out. We have showers, laundry, real kitchen appliances like a fridge and stovetop, television, internet, exercise room, couches and desktops. It’s kinda like a common area in a dorm, with someone coming through twice a day to tend it.
Maybe you find it hard to believe that such a large group of ‘dirty truck drivers’ can keep places like this nice, decent, and clean. Well, Ghosts don’t have our own trucks, so we treat Lounges like our home. They really are a house of many rooms, and we protect them from abuse. If truck drivers as a whole are a Family, Ghosts are kinda like the eccentric branch that comes across as anal, snobbish and aloof. Solos can only come in as guests, and if the rest of the branch doesn’t like your guest, both of you will be shown the door. You for a month, your guest forever.
Don’t think we can get too crazy in there. The TSC has video surveillance running twenty-four/seven, and you have to swipe your chip to get in. Even ‘guests’: no chip, no entry.
If a Ghost wants to bring a Pro in, she (or he) has to get a chip, too, in their left hand so you can tell us apart. That is actually kinda nice—helps to mitigate ‘incidents’ by keeping the ones known to be diseased and/or abusive out, and lets the Pros who follow the Clean Health Guidelines in.
If the TSC sees you engaging in inappropriate activities or trashing the Lounge, you will have your entry privileges revoked. Permanently. So we have to salute "Big Brother" here, too. At least the berths themselves are private and unmonitored. As far as we know.
Because there is so much down time, Ghosts spend a lot of time hanging out with each other, sharing stories of our latest runs. There is always something interesting given the variety of characters out there on the road, and our freedom to hop between them.
Often there is a lot of ‘sharing sleep’—when a Ghost finds another Ghost or a Solo to have sex with. Or I should say there is a lot of trying to share sleep. At times it can be like high school.
Next week: Name Calling
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
March 8, 2013
Ghost Driver's Guild
The real reason a lot of Solo drivers don’t like us is because we have managed to organize into a union, the Ghost Driver’s Guild. As a result, we get paid more per mile than Solo drivers, and we also get paid for time waiting when we could be driving.
The Guild formed shortly after the Companies created the position of Floating Co-Driver, or Ghost Driver as we prefer. They determined that Ghosts were cheaper and more stable than putting teams on all long haul trucks. (Not every driver is cut out to constantly share truck space with another driver, you know.)
They found us: qualified drivers who meet all these extra requirements like ongoing training, immaculate driving records, spotless criminal and drug histories, high IQs, little to no physical attachments (homes or families), and high levels of physical fitness. We are smart, fit, clean, and have nothing to go home to. The road is our home.
By 2020, the Companies had re-designed the freight movement system to be entirely dependent upon the availability of Ghosts.
They sent us out there.
Then they screwed us. Paid us less than Solos, stranded us in remote locations leaving us to pay our own fare out or hitchhike. They refused to address any of our grievances, from abusive Solos to lack of accommodations. So we organized. All of us, every last Ghost. We went on strike.
Within hours of beginning the strike we knew we had the Industry by the short hairs. By May 7, 2021, after a mere week off, we went back to work with better pay, better benefits, and more respect from the Companies.
Ghosts keep telling the Solos that if they organize themselves, they could bring the whole country to a halt until they get the restrictions eased, so they can make a proper living again. But Solos are too damn stubborn—they call it independent—to ever organize. It would take something supernatural, super unifying, or super horrible to get them to band together.
The Guild has been and remains a useful entity. We have no doubt that if the Guild dissolved a lot of the good we achieved would go away. Our pay would be slashed. We’d get stranded in remote locations with no waiting pay and no paid transport out to a hub. Lounge access would cost. There would be fees for every incidental service, from clean sheets to internet access. We would be bending over to get screwed. Again.
So we pay our dues and stay organized. It’s really a no-brainer.
Next week: Ghost Lounges
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
The Guild formed shortly after the Companies created the position of Floating Co-Driver, or Ghost Driver as we prefer. They determined that Ghosts were cheaper and more stable than putting teams on all long haul trucks. (Not every driver is cut out to constantly share truck space with another driver, you know.)
They found us: qualified drivers who meet all these extra requirements like ongoing training, immaculate driving records, spotless criminal and drug histories, high IQs, little to no physical attachments (homes or families), and high levels of physical fitness. We are smart, fit, clean, and have nothing to go home to. The road is our home.
By 2020, the Companies had re-designed the freight movement system to be entirely dependent upon the availability of Ghosts.
They sent us out there.
Then they screwed us. Paid us less than Solos, stranded us in remote locations leaving us to pay our own fare out or hitchhike. They refused to address any of our grievances, from abusive Solos to lack of accommodations. So we organized. All of us, every last Ghost. We went on strike.
Within hours of beginning the strike we knew we had the Industry by the short hairs. By May 7, 2021, after a mere week off, we went back to work with better pay, better benefits, and more respect from the Companies.
Ghosts keep telling the Solos that if they organize themselves, they could bring the whole country to a halt until they get the restrictions eased, so they can make a proper living again. But Solos are too damn stubborn—they call it independent—to ever organize. It would take something supernatural, super unifying, or super horrible to get them to band together.
The Guild has been and remains a useful entity. We have no doubt that if the Guild dissolved a lot of the good we achieved would go away. Our pay would be slashed. We’d get stranded in remote locations with no waiting pay and no paid transport out to a hub. Lounge access would cost. There would be fees for every incidental service, from clean sheets to internet access. We would be bending over to get screwed. Again.
So we pay our dues and stay organized. It’s really a no-brainer.
Next week: Ghost Lounges
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
March 1, 2013
Introducing the Future
Well, 'they' always say write what you know. I'm a truck driver, have been for years. My real name is Melanie Freeman, but everyone calls me Hella Mel. And not because I drive like Hell on Wheels.
I'm a Ghost Driver, one of the Trucking Industry's elite guild of specialized drivers. We are brought in to make sure Solo drivers can complete their deliveries on time.
To get Ghost Driver status, a truck driver has to be absolutely righteous. We have to follow all the Regs as if our lives depend on it. Well, our job does, anyway. Getting busted down to Solo is as bad as losing our wheels altogether.
See, by 2025 the Trucking Industry has been regulated so tightly that Solo drivers are often unable to deliver loads on time. There's lower speed limits, strict Hours of Service limitations, and technological ‘leashes’ that have made cheating on logbooks impossible.
The total number of drivers has been reduced dramatically by citizenship requirements and aggressive, almost invasive drug testing policies routinely carried out in mobile Random UA clinics (think SWAT-type trucks rolling into truck stops and corralling drivers) and monthly blood draw requirements.
Log Book Regulations restrict driving times to 10 hours per on duty day, and 14 hours on duty limits, with two ½ hour breaks required in that 10 hours.
Technology includes driver cams outfitted with facial recognition that verify who is operating the truck, and a card reader that must be swiped with the driver’s license; if the face in the camera and the face on the card don’t match, the truck won’t move. And get this, that 'license' is a chip that the Fed embeds in the back of your right hand. The things we endure to bring you your groceries.
More technology: ‘Fatigue Monitors’ measure how tired a driver is at certain points during our shift, usually before we leave a rest area or truck stop, and they are triggered by upcoming rest stops on the highway. If we are deemed too fatigued, we get put Out of Service, and the truck engine dies down to minimal performance, just enough to get the truck into the rest stop.
Electronic logbook recorders that cannot be manipulated are mounted in the dash, and automatically record stop and start times, breaks, etc. If a driver fails to stop at required intervals, the truck rolls to a stop and will not move again until DOT enforcement can come to reset the unit, or 24 hours pass, whichever comes first.
So you see how difficult it can be to bring freight across the country to keep consumers everywhere happy. The Industry was a real wreck for a couple years after the Regs of 2018 unmanned it, until The Companies came in a set it all right again.
The Companies. A kind of super group of six major trucking companies, the only ones left standing after the Regs of 2018. The only ones with the money and the in-pocket politicians able to accommodate the tough new Regs.
In order to overcome the limitations without assigning teams to every truck, The Companies created a cadre of Floating Co-Drivers who jump from truck to truck helping other drivers make their deliveries on time.
That's where I and others like me come in.
The Industry quickly fell to calling us Ghost Drivers, after the old practice of keeping a second logbook on the truck as a means of cheating.
Why are we elite? Ghost Drivers are bonded, insured, and highly trained. We are closely monitored by the Companies who run us, and the USDOT. Any time a Ghost Driver swipes into a truck, a flag goes off, and our driving status is checked before the vehicle is allowed to start.
The Companies know where we are at all times, so they can be sure who we can be assigned to. We usually only work for one company due to insurance requirements, and the guarantee of getting paid. We often dream of going independent, but the same questions of insurance and pay keep us tied down.
We are viewed by some Solo drivers as angels come to help them make delivery times. Other Solo drivers think of us as a necessary evil, and try to avoid needing us.
Because we often spend our required off duty hours in truck stops, we are seen as Truck Stop Cowboys, or Lot Lizards, and we are looked down upon as such.
But Ghost Drivers know the real reason the Solos don't like us.
Next week: Ghost Driver's Guild
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
I'm a Ghost Driver, one of the Trucking Industry's elite guild of specialized drivers. We are brought in to make sure Solo drivers can complete their deliveries on time.
To get Ghost Driver status, a truck driver has to be absolutely righteous. We have to follow all the Regs as if our lives depend on it. Well, our job does, anyway. Getting busted down to Solo is as bad as losing our wheels altogether.
See, by 2025 the Trucking Industry has been regulated so tightly that Solo drivers are often unable to deliver loads on time. There's lower speed limits, strict Hours of Service limitations, and technological ‘leashes’ that have made cheating on logbooks impossible.
The total number of drivers has been reduced dramatically by citizenship requirements and aggressive, almost invasive drug testing policies routinely carried out in mobile Random UA clinics (think SWAT-type trucks rolling into truck stops and corralling drivers) and monthly blood draw requirements.
Log Book Regulations restrict driving times to 10 hours per on duty day, and 14 hours on duty limits, with two ½ hour breaks required in that 10 hours.
Technology includes driver cams outfitted with facial recognition that verify who is operating the truck, and a card reader that must be swiped with the driver’s license; if the face in the camera and the face on the card don’t match, the truck won’t move. And get this, that 'license' is a chip that the Fed embeds in the back of your right hand. The things we endure to bring you your groceries.
More technology: ‘Fatigue Monitors’ measure how tired a driver is at certain points during our shift, usually before we leave a rest area or truck stop, and they are triggered by upcoming rest stops on the highway. If we are deemed too fatigued, we get put Out of Service, and the truck engine dies down to minimal performance, just enough to get the truck into the rest stop.
Electronic logbook recorders that cannot be manipulated are mounted in the dash, and automatically record stop and start times, breaks, etc. If a driver fails to stop at required intervals, the truck rolls to a stop and will not move again until DOT enforcement can come to reset the unit, or 24 hours pass, whichever comes first.
So you see how difficult it can be to bring freight across the country to keep consumers everywhere happy. The Industry was a real wreck for a couple years after the Regs of 2018 unmanned it, until The Companies came in a set it all right again.
The Companies. A kind of super group of six major trucking companies, the only ones left standing after the Regs of 2018. The only ones with the money and the in-pocket politicians able to accommodate the tough new Regs.
In order to overcome the limitations without assigning teams to every truck, The Companies created a cadre of Floating Co-Drivers who jump from truck to truck helping other drivers make their deliveries on time.
That's where I and others like me come in.
The Industry quickly fell to calling us Ghost Drivers, after the old practice of keeping a second logbook on the truck as a means of cheating.
Why are we elite? Ghost Drivers are bonded, insured, and highly trained. We are closely monitored by the Companies who run us, and the USDOT. Any time a Ghost Driver swipes into a truck, a flag goes off, and our driving status is checked before the vehicle is allowed to start.
The Companies know where we are at all times, so they can be sure who we can be assigned to. We usually only work for one company due to insurance requirements, and the guarantee of getting paid. We often dream of going independent, but the same questions of insurance and pay keep us tied down.
We are viewed by some Solo drivers as angels come to help them make delivery times. Other Solo drivers think of us as a necessary evil, and try to avoid needing us.
Because we often spend our required off duty hours in truck stops, we are seen as Truck Stop Cowboys, or Lot Lizards, and we are looked down upon as such.
But Ghost Drivers know the real reason the Solos don't like us.
Next week: Ghost Driver's Guild
© 2013 Kristi Cramer
Bounded in a Nutshell
The skinny on Kristi's life, musings, and occasional bits on writing, works in progress, and promotions.
My blog title is from Shakespeare's Hamlet:
Hamlet:
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and ...more
My blog title is from Shakespeare's Hamlet:
Hamlet:
O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and ...more
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