I was talking to Mike the trucker this morning over breakfast at Ma Kelly's. He had parked his rig down at the mill early and walked back to Ma's for a big breakfast that would later smell up his cab real bad when he had to keep his windows rolled up tight to keep out yet another wet blast of weather. Mike had a faller's breakfast, enough thick grease to get Ottawa moving; I had oatmeal and Ma's homemade raisin bread.
I asked Mike, "You ever work in a mill before you started hauling lumber?"
"Oh fuck yes," said Mike between mouthfuls of sunny side eggs and ham. "Up in the fucking Interior. That was a long fucking time ago. Fucking mills. Half the guys are rednecks who don't know shit. I never once had an intelligent conversation with one of those dumb motherfuckers. The other half the guys in the mill were Hindoos. I found the Hindoos to be better company. Fuck can those ragheads drink.
One day when I was on the greenchain, they still had greenchains back then, I noticed that the truck drivers had the best job in the fucking business. I got the fuck out of the mill, worked for somebody else for a while, then started up WM trucking with my brother."
"The M in your company name must be for Mike. What's your brother's name?" I asked as my oatmeal forced a runny beer fart into my clean Monday morning work pants and I took a big hit of coffee.
Mike laughed. "My brother's name is Ralph. And the M don't stand for Mike. WM stands for White Man's trucking. But don't tell any of the Hindoos that. They'll bomb our motherfucking rigs."
Ma came by as she saw we were finishing up our food. "How your breakfast Mike? How your Beer? Pick any winner on the weekend?"