Recently, I hauled a brokered load for a large, well-known Midwest-based company, who shall here remain nameless. While arriving at the shipper, I attempted to phone the firm's contact number, provided on the rate confirmation, and, well, maybe the rest of the story will sound familiar.
After about five or six minutes of holding, I hung up. I'm not sure what the acceptable holding-time threshold is in your truck, but, yeah, after about five or six minutes I'm pretty much played out. They can just call me.
Sometime after I made it to the dock, the broker did in fact call. Nice lady, pleasant and professional. I let her know I'd arrived on-time and was waiting to get loaded. We'll just call her Sheila for the sake of this account.
"Be sure to let me know when you're loaded," Sheila said.
"OK, Sheila. Sure will."
To be completely candid, I really don't remember whether I called back when loaded, or whether Sheila called me later in the day. I will say that once the pattern of long hold times and subsequent calls from the broker becomes established, I pretty much just let them call me.
What I do remember is the night shift of this well-respected, creditworthy, award-winning firm rousting me out of bed at eleven that night and seven the following morning wanting updates on their load. The next morning I was pretty discombobulated. I'm 64 now, and definitely not as spry as I used to be. A lousy night's sleep gets me down more than it used to. It was a struggle to perform my duties in an alert and professional manner without making some fairly consequential mental mistakes.
