Respect, Remarkably

I always wanted to feel valuable at work. I rarely did during the decade-plus that I toiled as an online journalist. Sure, I wrote enough great content, did some cool video editing and was a collaborative team member. But I never felt useful and respected at the level I had anticipated when I started my journalism training.

In fact, it wasn’t until this last week that I felt that level of usefulness and respect. With the shit storm of COVID-19 running rampant all over the world and me out on the road faithfully trucking along, the adulation that I’d long figured would one day come … well, it finally did, in an ironic way.

I originally set my sights on journalism because I wanted to turn my writing gifts into a sustainable living. I foresaw recognition and advancement that never came. Then the bottom dropped out of the journalism world. In 2013 my department at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) got axed. I went through four hard years of varied employment before I looked into trucking. It seemed to be the only quick route back to a decent living. Nearing 50 and with few options, I jumped at the opportunity. I never envisioned that I’d be much more than content in this new world. I surely never imagined being bestowed with admiration.

Then came March 2020

Throughout North America, worries over COVID-19 have become heightened day by day and even minute by minute. By the time last week hit, it was a full onslaught on a scale that – I would argue – this generation has never seen. If you weren’t terrified by post 9-11 terrorism concerns, didn’t live in a SARS-affected area and weren’t in the Southeast Asia region for the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami, you’re surely alarmed now. You’re alarmed, as I am, by a surreal new reality and by a deluge of media coverage, most of it overwhelming and disheartening.

While much of North America and the world is staying indoors and watching a whole lot of Netflix, many of us – medical personnel, first responders, grocery store staff, warehouse workers, delivery drivers, truck drivers, and countless others – are still “out there.” We’re constantly reminded that the virus can easily hit us at any minute. We hear you when you tell us how proud you are of us and we appreciate your kind words.

But, unless I’m very wrong, most of us don’t know what it feels like to hear these words. We’re told we’re “essential” where before we just did our jobs without thinking there’s tremendous value in it. Now we’re doing the required work that society can’t live without. The funny thing is, for many of us we’re just performing the same tasks, albeit in a much different and safer way.

Dirty disgusting truckers no more

In my case, since I started trucker training and until this month, I was never once told how important it was to wash my hands. Many truck drivers are not renowned for their personal hygiene, to say the least. Now we’re prompted about the importance of sanitizing at every location we visit.

At each stop I made this week – warehouses, truck stops, rest areas – there was ample signage (mostly on letter-sized paper affixed to doors at eye-level) telling us to wash our hands, keep a certain distance from others, don’t touch things that we don’t need to touch, and cover our cough.

Border guards have been asking us if we’re experiencing any symptoms, have been near anyone who has been experiencing symptoms, or have travelled to any of the badly affected areas, such as China, Iran or Italy. Some warehouses are asking us to sign papers to verify those same things. Other warehouses aren’t letting us in at all or aren’t letting us use their restroom. That’s a problem because we need to secure the freight that they’re putting on our trailers, and it’s already hard enough for us to find a place to pee.

One warehouse receptionist in Georgia had on a mask and latex gloves, and her glass window was closed. She could barely hear what I was saying. Her explanation to me was understandable. A restaurant worker down the road had tested positive and everyone nearby is in a heightened state of alert.

A heightened state of alert. I first came across this bitter reality in the weeks following 9-11. Back then it meant we were all looking over our shoulders to see what might be about to befall us. Same fear now; radically different circumstances.

Isolated by circumstances

When I look over my shoulder at work, I have my head out the window and am making sure that I’m hitting the dock squarely. Other than that, I don’t look over my shoulder. There’s no one there to see. I’m self-isolated due to the nature of my job. For most parts of most days, there’s nothing around me except other trucks and cars. This past week, there was much less of those as well.

Honestly, the driving this week was great; better than ever. In my three-plus years at the helm of a big rig, I’ve never made such good time. I made good money and got home early. This is a rare combination. Still, I’m anxious for it to be over with. It’s not normal. It means big trouble in the world.

Same with the adulation and respect I’ve received, in person and online. I know my job is important. In fact, I already knew it was crucial to society long before COVID-19 came along and made it abundantly clear. As nice as it is, I don’t have to hear it anymore. I just want to return to what was: friends gathering, businesses thriving, live sports on TV, people not worrying ceaselessly about their immediate and foreseeable futures.

In the meantime

For now, I’ll gladly accept this new respect and adulation. Once this mess is over and life is more or less back to normal – an entirely new normal, of course – I’d like to trade it in for a better work life for all of us “essential” workers.

In the case of truckers, I’d like this to mean more police looking out for non-truckers doing stupid things on the road, like whizzing by us and then cutting in front of us and slowing down. I’d love to guarantee parking spots for all truckers, so we don’t have to worry each evening about where we’re going to stop for the night before we run out of working hours. This would show lasting respect; this means something tangible once all the “thank yous” run out.

Firstly, let’s get through all this madness together, with all the kindness and compassion that we have in us. Long-term changes for the better … that’s for another day down the road.