Typical Day
B.B. Gunne stretches his arms as he looks out of the window of his big rig. It's nearing 4:00AM and Gunne's been on the road since 4:00AM yesterday. He smiles; that's sixteen hours of overtime. Those hours combined with his earlier "missions" from last week brings him to about eighty hours of overtime for this pay period.
This next paycheck is going to allow him to move out of the rundown apartment that he had to quickly move into when he relocated for this job. Now, he can afford a much nicer apartment, like a real adult. He's not going to bother investing in a house until he stops spending most of his time on the road—no sense in sinking a lot of money into something he won't use often—but it's on the bucket list.
Gunne opens up the remainder of his breakfast burrito. He scarfs it down and realizes that he's getting more and more hungry by the second. He's also having a little difficulty paying attention to the road. Driving for twenty-four hours straight can do that to a person. Gunne knows that he should pull over and rest soon, but decides to keep driving for another hour or so. Hey, the more driving he does, the more overtime he gets.
At around 5:30AM, Gunne's eyes start going a little fuzzy and his butt feels as flat as a piece of paper (thanks to all the sitting he's been doing). Gunne shakes his head. Some guys are able to drive for the full thirty-two hours that they're allowed without a rest stop. He wonders how they manage not to run themselves off of the road.
Gunne decides to locate the nearest government facility to drop the truck off; after that, he'll find a hotel to crash at for a while. Gunne radios in to his dispatcher and asks to be patched into the nearest government building so he can confirm his temporary drop-off.
At 6:45AM, Gunne crashes into his dingy motel room and flops face down onto his bed. It's as hard as brick, but it'll do the job. Gunne passes out before he can even count to five sheep.
By 2:00PM, Gunne and his truck are back on the road and barreling down the highway. Well-rested and well-fed, Gunne is alert and hopeful that he will be able to make the drop-off to the nuclear plant a little before schedule. Gunne recently began dating a woman in his building, and he's hoping to get back home early to take her out for a nice dinner.
Besides, the better his times become, the more likely Gunne will be able to get a pay raise by the end of the year. Before applying to become a materials courier, Gunne had been in the military, so he came in with a pretty decent pay scale. But, at thirty-five years old, Gunne's ready to be able to start making a real home for himself—even if that home was pretty empty most of the time.
As he drives, he notices a black car with tinted windows has been following close behind him since he left the government building this morning. His eyes dart to look underneath his passenger seat, where his gun is. He hasn't had to use it yet, and frankly hopes he never has to, but Gunne is always ready.
When an hour goes by and Gunne notices the car is still following close behind him, he begins to get a little suspicious. He's ready, anticipating whatever the car's intentions may be and hoping for the best. He's never been robbed before, and neither have any of his courier friends, but that doesn’t mean it can't happen.
The black car speeds up. Pretty soon it's right next to him. Gunne looks down at the car to see the passenger's window begin to roll slowly down. Gunne steels himself, waiting for what's to come.
The window rolls down to reveal...a young woman trying to discreetly snap pictures of his truck. Gunne smiles. Every trip there's at least one person that recognizes the blue-and-chrome eighteen-wheeler as a nuclear transport vehicle. People are always taking pictures.
A couple of hours later, Gunne finds himself approaching Albuquerque, New Mexico—a.k.a. his drop-off point. He delivers the cargo and then turns around to head home. Even though he loves what he does—and loves the overtime pay—Gunne can't wait to get back home. The open road is nice, but so is a home-cooked meal and a familiar bed.