What lawyer doesn’t desire to be a judge for a day? Well, I got to be a judge today, but not the kind who wears robes.

Instead, I served as one of the judges for the Annual Truck Driving Competition held by the A. Duie Pyle Trucking Company. I have done this for several years now, and last year I had the opportunity to serve as the announcer for the event. However, with the return of the regular announcer, I again resumed my “judicial” role.

I was the “Left Turn” judge, which involved walking behind each truck as the driver attempted to make a left turn around a barrel and getting the left rear tire (or tires in the case of trailer) as close to the barrel as possible without hitting it. The Left Turn was but one of the many parts of the course that had to be carefully navigated by both professional and amateur truck drivers (the “amateurs” work for the company but do not normally drive trucks).

These guys can do amazing things with those monster diesels. Indeed, two of the company drivers who competed last year went on to eventually compete in the National Truck Driving Championship, which was recently held in Tampa. One came in second in his class, and the other placed sixth.

As has been the case in prior years, this family-oriented event was a huge success with plenty of great food cooked on site, which, of course, included sausage, peppers and onions on Italian rolls – a Jersey staple. It is both amazing and gratifying to see some fifty-seven truck drivers come out on their day off to do what they do for a living – just for the camaraderie and the joy of competition.

I’m pretty tired and more than a little sunburned, but, as Martha Stewart would say, “It’s a good thing.”

It’s a pity that Pulitzer Prizes are not awarded for complaint letters, because the following letter would be a contender. Here is but a sample:

Dear Cretins,
. . .
My initial [cable TV, internet modem and phone] installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse waiting for your technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website….HOW?

I alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes – an activity at which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept. The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, although the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools – such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum.
. . .

Read the whole thing.

Via Mr. Snitch