The Final Saturday of 2023

 It is a typical Saturday morning for me; awake too early, in the cold morning bedroom.  I spend too much time on the hair, braiding it, deciding I did a good job, and taking the usual blurry photos to remember it by.  More time is wasted as I edit the photos that no one else is likely to see. 

By the time I get down the stairs there is little time before I must leave. I have some of the overnight oats that is prepared and ready to drink, put on my shoes and jacket, and head out.  I heft the computer bag into the back seat of the car, and lower myself into the driver seat.  The drive is uneventful as usual, with the exception of a “Dudley Do-right” who cannot go a whit over the speed limit for a section of my drive.  I usually average around 4 mph over the speed limit on days like today – when I am feeling that I left the house a couple minutes late.

Despite anything I arrive in the library parking lot a full 5 minutes before they open.

Sitting in the car I leave the engine running for heat and to listen to the rest of the song- out of respect for a long-gone group who only had 2 records climb the charts – according to the dj.

The Tremeloes sing Silence Is Golden as I wait in the car for the song to finish.  Two minutes before the library opening, I get out of the car, haul the computer bag out, and head toward the doors.

 

A voice says, “Good morning.”

I turn to look along the lockers to the bench and see a man sitting there. 

He is eating spaghetti out of a foil package.  The strands of spaghetti pasta have the reddish tinge of marinara sauce as they dangle off his fork on the way to his mouth. He is hunched over, leaning toward his meal.

“Why is it so cold?” he asks me.

I reply, “because it’s Illinois.”

He chuckles and keeps eating his meal.

It was the warm, friendly repartee one has with a stranger on the street in passing.

It was the kind of interaction I live for.

It is the kind of interaction I do not get enough of, and I consider talking to the man some more, while I think about who eats spaghetti out of foil, outdoors in the cold weather.  Probably a homeless person.  Nothing against him for whatever his reason is for what he is doing.  I decide that we both had enjoyed our tiny conversation and let it go.  That part: the letting it go, that is what makes these interactions so special.

The Tremeloes: Silence is Golden

from October 2023

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The F-350 Tailgate

 Texas. March 2010.

After spending an awful winter in Iowa, freezing our butts off, we got the call that we were going to work in Texas.  The technicians there quit abruptly, leaving the hearing van at the Amarillo airport.

I was informed by the manager of the fleet department that we would need to remove the tailgate from a Ford F-350 dually pickup truck.  I laughed.  “me and Lora? …2 girls?” I laughed again.  He told me that we would have to find someone to help us.  There were no further instructions.  We had absolutely no idea how one goes about removing a tailgate from a pickup truck.

The problem with the tailgate was that the trailer hookup was a fifth wheel in the bed of the pickup, and there was not good clearance between the tailgate and the doghouse of the trailer.  In order for us to be able to leave the trailer at job sites and drive the pickup for personal use the tailgate would need to be removed or be at risk of damaging the tailgate or the hearing van.

 

We flew to Dallas, there to change planes and fly to Amarillo.  At Dallas, they wanted us to give up our seats on the booked flight for the “bonus” $400 credit to fly another day, and they would get us to Amarillo the next day.  I refused because our checked bags were going to Amarillo without us, and I wasn’t going to spend the night without my luggage. This was the middle of a long travel day for us, and I just didn’t want to deal with this.

Flying into Amarillo we looked out of the airplane windows, hoping that we would see the hearing van parked at the airport.  No luck, we didn’t fly over the parking area.  We collected our checked bags and set out for the parking lot, wondering just how far we would have to drag all of our stuff.  We were discussing this when I saw an airport police officer.  I asked him if he happened to know where we could find a large pickup truck with a trailer attached to it – and he knew where it was!  Way out at the far end of the parking lot, and which way we needed to go to get there. One problem solved.

 

later that March, somewhere in North Texas

We got in the hearing van, inspected the situation, and secured our luggage in there, then headed to the hotel.  Parking at the hotel was not optimal… we pulled in and thought we would wait for morning to try to negotiate the narrow driveway around the back of the building.  Checked in to our rooms, but the need to move the vehicle into position for ease of leaving in the morning nagged at me, along with the problem of how to remove the tailgate from the pickup truck. 

I went out and walked around the hotel to see what that driveway around the building looked like.  It was going to be a slow go.  Rather than struggle in the early morning hours I decided to get the vehicle around the building and positioned for a quick getaway.  The driveway was not actually wide enough, and the trailer/van wound up over the curb in the dirt, but I made it around the building.

As I checked my parking job, and made sure everything was secure another Ford dually pickup truck arrived in the parking lot.  I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask… so I approached the man and explained that we needed to know exactly how to remove a tailgate… and the gentleman kindly demonstrated on his own vehicle by showing me what we would need to do to release the tailgate. (It never hurts to ask.)

The next morning, we arrived at the job site with time to spare, and little Lora (all of 5’3” and probably 100 pounds soaking wet) and I unhooked the trailer from the truck with the tailgate open, as she held it so that it would not slam down or hit the trailer.  Lora stood by while I lifted the tailgate slightly to release the side cables.  Then we lifted the tailgate as if to close it and released the cable – just like the man at the hotel had demonstrated for me.  Voila! The tailgate was released from the back of the truck.  The two of us lugged that heavy tailgate up into the trailer, and stuck it in the doghouse/closet, and that was the beginning of our grand Texas adventures.

 

with photoshopped horns at our hotel in April


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What I like about Texas

 

Winter 2010 … (part 2) more Iowa stories

interesting places...

I learned that my co-worker Lora collected buttons – old buttons – actually more specifically the cards that buttons used to be attached to for sale.  Those cards have intricate and amazing art on them! Lora asked if we could visit antique stores and antique malls to look for button cards.  Okay by me, because every such store is a visit to the past – a past I still remember.  It was memory lane time for me, because my parents were older, and their friends were older, and I can find, in every antique shop, some visage of the past from someone or others house I remember visiting as a child.  Such memories are a comfort to me, as they were some of the happiest and most peaceful hours of my childhood. Sitting on some Asian-patterned carpet, quietly listening to the adults talk about things long past.

So into the antique shops we went. Any time we had extra time to spare. I remember chatting with antique shop owners about various items they had for sale… and did they list any of it on eBay? I recommended a few of them that way – try listing on eBay to move items that are desired by folks far away from Iowa, who will pay a decent amount for certain collectibles.

Thus somewhere in Iowa I found a spoon rest that matched one my mother owned, but this one was not broken…

 

This was only part of our adventures in Iowa.

One snowy Saturday morning in February Lora and I made the trek from the Sioux City area to Vermillion, South Dakota, to the National Music Museum.  Quite an interesting place for any music lover... everything from antique violins to electric guitars, and accordians, pianos.. anything and everything music.

The National Music Museum, Vermillion, SD

Another Saturday, in Columbus, Nebraska we visited a local library for a concert by digeridoo and zither. We happened upon the advertisement while perusing the local newspaper during breakfast. Lora asked if we could go, and why not!  It was educational and the sounds were amazing.  A winter afternoon well spent.

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Additional to the button card collecting:

Later Lora and I were in an antique "mall" somewhere in Texas... Lora was perusing a bin of vinyl record albums from the 1950s and 1960s when I walked over and noticed a sign on the wall above the bin.  I drew Lora's attention to the sign: "Estate sale button collection available.  1,000s of buttons." and below the text a phone number. 

We immediately adjourned to the pickup truck, where Lora made the call-- and we were off to a private home where we spent some 3 hours looking at thousands of old buttons.... and Miss Lora spent a little money on some really cool button cards and buttons.

sorry, no photos... 

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up next: getting to Texas....

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Winter 2010: Iowa COLD (part 1)

 Winter 2009-2010

Late December 2009:  Word comes down that one of the hearing technicians has a health issue and will be seeking treatment in 2010.  His wife will continue to work so that they don’t lose their health insurance. She and I will work together. 

This is my job. I am a member of the fleet department of a national hearing testing company. (OSHA mandated hearing testing in industry.) It is part of my job to work with technicians and/or cover for technicians who are on an excused absence.  This is not my first rodeo.

Lora and I converse by telephone.  We are to go to the nearest hearing van in early January. We will retrieve the hearing van from a local truck repair yard and make our way toward Iowa for the duration. We do not know how long we will work together.  We will meet at Lora’s daughter’s house in a western suburb of Chicago, spend the night there, and make our way to the hearing van in the wee hours of a cold January day.

generic photo

Lora’s daughter graciously invites me to share their evening meal.  She opens a cabinet door and invites me to add whatever spices I like to her delicious (without the spices) stew, while pointing at her mother and announcing, “meet Mrs. Bland.”  Lora doesn’t like spicy foods, but will refrain from adding any spices at all, including salt and pepper. At the time I did not like spicy, but realistically did add onion, garlic, salt, pepper, as needed to whatever I was eating. As we would be dining together frequently for the foreseeable future this lesson was necessary.  Noted: “Lora does not like spices.”  Working together is about getting along, so I just kept that mental note, and hoped for the best.

On to Iowa, not without the occasional hiccup. Cold weather, normal January, not above 27F the entire month, except for one day in Cedar Rapids. It was a Saturday, and it was 34F, and everyone was walking around without coats! Because that is what winter is like north of the 40^th Parallel… oh, did I mention that our heater in the van wasn’t working?  It was a small propane furnace, and we could not get it to light.  We were relying on small space heaters for any heat or comfort at all.  It was COLD and it was horrible!  One place near Cedar Rapids we parked inside a warehouse, and it got the van and heater warm enough to light – heat at last! I broke a rule and drove to the next testing site with the heater in the van turned on.  Heat for a day! And then we froze again. Then, someplace in northwestern Iowa, at a grain processing plant a safety director took pity on us and arranged for extra electrical cords to be run out to the hearing van so we could run the electric space heaters and keep it at a toasty 60F in the van for 3 days.

This all comes with travels back and forth across Iowa.  I do not remember from where we came, but heading for Des Moines in a raging snowstorm.  Doing about 35mph on Interstate 80, because no one could go faster without losing control of their vehicle.  I found that ANY change in speed caused the trailer to slide sideways,… so 35mph we went, westbound, for over an hour. At our exit there was a jackknifed semi on the overpass, but no matter, as we were going the other direction from there.  The next customer would not let us plug the tractor in over night, it was snowing heavily, and we got the last hotel room available in Ankeny, Iowa.  I mean THE LAST single hotel room, and found ourselves forced to share a room for the first, and only time in our travels together.  Yes, a normal hotel room with 2 beds in it. Okay, we made the best of it, at least it was just us two gals.  We watched the weather channel to keep up on what was going on, and fell asleep with the television on.  Awakening around 2:30am, I suggested that we go out for a drive and see what the situation really was.  And it was this: I-35 northbound was ice covered, and looked like a mirror.  The nearest rest area was full up with semis, prohibiting any more vehicles from entering there.  We made our way to the next exit and turned around. Back to the hotel, where I called my supervisor and told him that there was no way I was going to even attempt to get to the next job, even if we could start the tractor, which was an unknown at that moment. Okay, he got off the call, and called the scheduling director to discuss… they called our next job location and the safety director there said: “tell them not to come.”  So we quickly got the call instructing us to stay put for a while, then proceed to our next scheduled job in Nebraska the following afternoon.  We napped for a while. Then back to the hearing van, at the customer from the previous day– snowed in, and dead engine due to the cold.

generic photo, not even the U.S.

Penske sent a guy out and he got it started. On to Nebraska, which is another story.

Finally, near the end of February we got the call we were waiting for: “you’re going to Texas”.

Hallelujah! We’re leaving winter behind!

 

Tune in next week for more adventures with Suzanne and Lora, and Lora and Suzanne.  Jirl Power!  wink wink!

this was just the "bare bones" of the Iowa 2010 adventure.... there were details.... 

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refer also to my previous blog post "baby. it's COLD outside (memories of previous cold winters)" from January 5, 2018, where mention is made of Iowa in January.

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Happy Birthday Beloved Cousin

 

I have written of her in the past... my sweet cousin, Doris.  It will be her birthday in a couple of days.  We used to go to visit Doris on the weekend nearest her birthday.  The family who loved her and felt that pull to visit, because she was sweet and could be fun to communicate with.

Sometimes my mother and I would go the day before, to one my mother's sister's houses and spend the night prior to the visit to Doris. Usually at the home of Aunt Helen and Uncle Ed, because we would all ride up to the nursing home together.  Often Aunt Emma came along, or different cousins would meet us at the nursing home; always Myrtle came along, and often Linda; sometimes bringing Carol along.  Less frequently other cousins would turn up in time for cake and coffee with Doris to celebrate her birthday.

One year Doris asked to be taken out for lunch. Despite spending her life in a wheelchair, Doris knew how to get places she wanted to visit.  The restaurant wasn't far away, and they had waffles and pancakes. 

I just want to wish you a Happy Birthday, Doris. You are never forgotten and always loved.

Doris and Myrtle, late 1997

In loving memory. April 18, 1934 - December 20, 2012.

Communicating with Doris

I hope you dance....

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Suspending belief

 I am on a weight loss journey… it’s a slow go, but that’s a different story.

The thing is I don’t want to be struggling with the distracting feeling that my pants are falling down as I slowly lose weight. There is always a transitional phase where the current pants are too loose, but the smaller size is uncomfortable.  Belts are,… an issue, they’re uncomfortable and frankly it’s not easy to find a belt I really like.  I am spoiled because for several years I had a dandy belt, that was more like woven leather – it didn’t have holes, it was as adjustable as any belt can be. Apparently I need to do some more research on the internet to find another like it.  It is belt that I wore frequently for more than 10 years, by way of saying that I remember the day I bought it, why I purchased it, and where I was at the time – more or less.  But I digress…

 About 3 weeks ago I decided to buy some suspenders.  I had been seeing the adverts pop up on the facebook feed and it was getting my attention.  So, I googled “suspenders” that led me to Amazon.  (As an aside I was liking the Amazon delivery feature of Lockers – at a local retail store, where my Amazon orders could wait, safely out of the elements, for me to pick them up more or less at my convenience. I have had some troubles with USPS delivery – and that’s another story.)

 I quickly found what I was looking for on Amazon, and started an order for 3 pairs of suspenders. That’s when the trouble started.  I could not get it to accept the delivery address of the Amazon Lockers – not any place I tried!

I decided to connect with Amazon customer service to try to find out why.

To my utter amazement the customer service team had absolutely NO CLUE what suspenders are… I am sorry that I only screen shotted a portion of the dialogue:

To be fair to the young man this is what he sees when he looks where I direct him:

He cannot envision this being folded up and placed in a small mailer bag.  And I have ordered 3 of them! They must be enormous. 

So my question is this:  IS EVERYONE AT AMAZON that ignorant?

---- insert facepalm here ----

I mean either no one at Amazon knows what suspenders are, or they have some kind of agreement with the vendor to have the vendor direct ship the items, but they cannot simply tell the customer that.  (unbelievable)

After wasting like an hour on that nonsense I went to the source and ordered my suspenders from:

https://www.suspenderstore.com/womens-suspenders.html

 

They shipped fast, and the small wee package fit inside my mailbox! Will wonders never cease…..

 I think that I am done with Amazon now.  (Plus the cost was lower without the middle man.) 

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For the curious: I have cut way down on sugar and carbs, but I am not calculating for keto... it's called "dirty keto".  I have not lost a lot of weight, but I do feel better, and a lot of inflammation has gone away.  That's all I'm gonna say at present.

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Arrested … wait!What!?

I feel the need to preface this with the disclaimer that it was all a huge misunderstanding such as happens, especially in Illinois. (insert facepalm here)

Arrested … wait!What!?

It was January 2008.  I had a job that required my truck driving skills. The main reason that I was hired was because I had a CDL – commercial drivers license, Class A – what you need to drive the big rigs.

That’s right. I have a CDL-A license and, briefly, drove a big rig. It was a Freightliner M-Class, it was red, it was a nice, heated sleeper, with less than 30,000 miles on it when it was assigned to me.  That means it was pretty new by trucking industry standards.  There are reasons why I quit driving.  There are things that most people don’t know and truly don’t want to know about the life of a truck driver.  But I digress…

 

January 2008.  I have an upcoming assignment to go and work in Iowa with my supervisor, and I will be expected to drive the rig.  My supervisor does not have a CDL, so he cannot move the vehicle.

Driving home, the night before the Iowa assignment, I was a little wound up about the trip that was to begin bright and early the next morning.  I was distracted.  Despite the fact that I knew the speed limit changes on the rural route I took to get the 40 miles home from the office…. I was speeding. I had failed to slow my car down from 55mph to 45mph – the required speed for the stretch of road I had entered.  Wouldn’t you know it – the locals had complained about the people who thought it was just fine to go as fast as they pleased on a country road.  So, I was stopped by a Deputy County police officer.

Damn. Well, okay, here’s my license.  I was thinking that this would be easy enough, the nice officer would go back to his squad car and look my drivers license over… and let me think about paying more attention.  But no.  Not really.  He did take my license to his squad car all right, and he called it in, and probably checked to see who my license plate was registered to.

Then he came back to my car.

He was holding my driver’s license at arm’s length – AWAY from me – as he told me that I was driving on an invalid license.  Invalid license? I actually laughed out loud, right in his face.  “Officer that license is valid all right. I have been using it to drive up and down the East Coast, and states mostly East of the Mississippi River, for the last couple of years.”

He took my license and went back to his squad car.  I could see that he was talking on the radio, and waiting for responses.  Finally, he returned to my car.  “Ma’am, I have talked with my Sergeant about this, and I am sorry, but I have to arrest you.”

About this time a flatbed tow truck arrived.  Law enforcement in that county doesn’t waste time, honestly.

I was told to just leave everything in the vehicle as long as I had my wallet on me.

Apologizing the officer said he had to handcuff me. “Regulations ma’am.”  The process was done gently and loosely, and he asked if I was comfortable as I got into the back of his squad car.

Now this was feeling mighty surreal.  Then again, life ought to be an adventure, right? And since I am not the type to get angry with law enforcement, I took this as a learning opportunity. Just sat in the back of the squad car thinking about how weird life can be.  I told the nice officer that my brother-in-law had been a police officer, and I have a nephew who was also in law enforcement.  He made an “mm-hmm” sound.  I asked how he had found this path in life, but he declined to answer.  I thanked him, anyway, for being in law enforcement, and shepherding the safety of others.

By this time we had arrived at the county courthouse and jail facility.

Inside the building the cuffs were removed and I was instructed to empty my pockets.  There was a lady officer to take my belongings, and as I watched she logged them on an itemized list.  Excusing myself I reached into my bra to retrieve a small zippered wallet containing cash. I told her there was money in it, and she asked me to take the money out and count it for her.  A little over $400 in “emergency” cash, untouched for several years, just riding with me everyplace I went.  She said, “ah, bail money. I will remember to have you bail out before very long.”

Then I was escorted to a holding cell.  In the cell were 2 “illegal” Mexican women, and 1 little “white trash” gal about 20 years old.  The 20-year-old immediately wanted to know did I have enough money to bail both of us out.  Yes, um no, sweetie, I only have enough for me.  I succeeded in not rolling my eyes at her as she told me her tale of woe. She was wearing very tight skinny jeans, and a “hoochie-momma” shirt – very revealing, with a jailhouse orange shirt over the top, because no one wanted to see her almost naked bosom.

This is what the jailor called a "hoochie mama" shirt. 
Note the wide open side... 

There was a phone in the holding cell.  Collect calls only.  Now this was in the time when one might still know a few phone numbers by heart. (thank God)  My first call was to my supervisor’s cell phone; and my second call, and third call too.  My supervisor got 3 lovely messages in a stern male voice informing him that: “This is the ------- County Jail. Suzanne Breier is trying to reach you. Will you accept the call?"  (The only thing I was allowed to say was my name. - The phone would play the message it left on his phone each time – to my horror.)  When that avenue did not pan out, I called the next, and only other phone number in my memory at the time: my step-sister.  True to her self she was at home at that hour, it must have been 8:30 pm or later by that time.  I told her where I was and that I didn’t really have time to explain, but I was going need a ride, and someone to drive my car after I bailed out –( which by this time I had been told would happen shortly.  Sweetheart that she is she got one of her sons and they drove 60+ miles to meet me at the county towing facility later.

The lady law enforcement person came to get me.  I had go through the system – get photographed and fingerprinted – which was interesting because they no longer used ink, but a touch screen device.  Then she called me a cab.

The cab driver knew exactly where he was going.  There is only tow truck service that county uses. Arriving at the tow facility before my step-sister, I was so flustered that I paid the cab driver with 2 twenties, for a $23.00 fare, and failed to collect my change from him.  God bless him, I hope that dandy tip was helpful him somehow.

The tow guy was a decent enough fellow.  Knowledgeable as you might expect he asked me if I had towing on my car insurance.  I did.  He kindly wrote the receipt ticket as a “tow” so that I could get reimbursed for the $300.  (The kindest thing about that night, along with my step-sister and step-nephew.)  I then went and stood out in the road and waiting for a car to come along.  I recognized the headlights coming into the little town – it was my nephew’s car that I had sold to him. (A really fine 2003 Chevy Impala.)  What a relief it was to see them.

Now here’s a kind of funny bit: the tow guy had told me the address where I could pick up my car.  “It’s in my mom’s driveway,” he said (to my shock), he then rattled off and address and, “Third Avenue, go one block south and turn left.”  Hahaha! My car was in his mom’s driveway! If only I had known I could have simply gone there and taken the car! (I ALWAYS have a spare car key on me.)  But then I’d have been in real trouble.

 

Now I will explain that this was all a HUGE misunderstanding, courtesy of the State of Illinois, the truck driving school I went to. (those dirty rats!) 

PAY CLOSE ATTENTION TO THIS NEXT BIT:

You see, I went to truck school in Wisconsin. I lived in Illinois. They set us up in little apartments for the 3 weeks of truck school – establishing residence – in Wisconsin. At the end of truck school the DMV sends out licensing staff to perform the road test from the school location, because we need the semi Tractors and trailers to do the road test. (that is another story of it’s own) 

So, I took my road test in Wisconsin.  They took us to the local DMV office to get our CDLs – in Wisconsin.  Because I lived in Wisconsin for the past 3 weeks I was considered a resident of Wisconsin for the purpose of obtaining my CDL license.  I SURRENDED MY former Illinois plain auto vehicle drivers license to Wisconsin, because it’s illegal to have 2 drivers licenses in your possession, and it was the only way they were going to give me the CDL.

Next the truck school personnel tell us, “when you return to your home state go directly to the DMV and get a new license with your correct address on it.”  Right.  The second day I was back in Illinois I went to a DMV facility that would issue me a CDL license (not all of them did at that time).  I took the paper test, and surrendered my 2 day old Wisconsin CDL license to the Illinois Secretary of State DMV.

BAM! THIS PERSON DOESN’T KNOW IT, BUT THEY DON’T HAVE A LEGAL DRIVERS LICENSE.

WHAT?!!  It’s convoluted but I had surrendered my former Illinois license to Wisconsin, who they were in no hurry to send those surrendered licenses back to their home states.  Who even knew that they did that!

To sum it up:

I surrendered an Illinois driver’s license in Wisconsin.

Wisconsin issued me a new Wisconsin CDL driver’s license.

I returned to Illinois and quickly surrendered the Wisconsin CDL in exchange for a new Illinois CDL.

Now here’s where it goes sideways:  my former Illinois drivers license gets sent to the Illinois Secretary of State office, MONTHS LATER. And the Illinois Secretary of State office, in their infinite wisdom declares that this person does NOT HAVE A VALID DRIVERS LICENSE henceforth.

 

Got that?  Okay, a year and a half LATER I get arrested in northern Illinois for driving on an “invalid” license, that was not actually invalid.

Now, get ready for this: the Illinois Secretary of States office KNOWS ALL ABOUT THIS!

Yes, the morning after my arrest my boss has had to come to Crystal Lake from Rockford at 3:30 in the morning, to pick me up for our trip to Iowa.  This was NOT the original plan, but at some wee hour of the morning he and I have agreed that I cannot drive myself anyplace without a valid driver’s license. (both of us were actually afraid of law enforcement catching us ACTUALLY doing something illegal)…

So on the way to Iowa, with Mark driving, at 8:00am I call the Secretary of States office in Springfield Illinois. I explain my plight and the lady says to me, “Oh. We know all about this.” (OMG!) and she tells me that I will be perfectly okay to drive the CDL required vehicle because I have the ticket – the one that says “invalid license” on it…. Because if Iowa law enforcement calls to check it out they will be told what’s what.  Okay, yeah, sure thing.  The ONLY driving I do in Iowa that week is to move the work CDL required vehicle about 10 miles to a different job site, and then back the 10 miles to return to the original job.

 

What an experience!

Then I had to call the truck school and get documentation from them…. And look up a bunch of other information to provide to the lawyer I had to hire to get the arrest expunged from my record….. $906 dollars later…. By the way: you don’t get bail money back! And no one I reached out to cared that I was out $906 because the state of Illinois is stupid. (anyone who lives in Illinois understands)

And Thank God for Mark, my supervisor, who fought for me to keep my job because it was all a big (confusing) misunderstanding.  And thanks to Christina, the other person I worked with in Iowa for being my driver that week, other than when I had to drive the CDL vehicle.

 Also, many thanks to my step-sister and her son.  Family.

Epilogue:  law enforcement had taken my first Illinois CDL the night of my arrest. I was told, several times, that they had destroyed that “invalid” driver’s license.  Several weeks after the court date I received and envelope in the mail… it contained the NOT DESTROYED and not invalid driver’s license. There I stood, like a true criminal, holding 2 driver’s licenses in my hands…. THAT is illegal.  (insert facepalm here)  Thanks a lot Illinois Secretary of State Office.

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