I arrived in Rockland, Mass, a small town charm, just 20 miles south of Boston. I’ve been waiting patiently for several days for this load, one that probably wasn’t even worth my time. Boston is a world-class city and a major intermodal seaport. But a trucker without a trailer is like a vagrant without a sign – gotta take whatever’s thrown at me.
I couldn’t find anything leaving the city heading south. Most loads were coming into Greater Boston and making their way from the port heading east, south, and all points in between. So I settled for a moving van from Casey’s Movers. Instead of freight, the load was comprised of furniture, and household goods for a 3-bedroom single-family house with a large living room and home-office den complemented with a 7-piece oak dining room.
The goods need to be shipped to Glen Burnie, MD, a suburb south of Baltimore, a tad bit bigger than Rockland. It was the day before July Fourth, so the family would have to wait until after the long holiday weekend. When I arrived I was greeted by Debbie, who apologized for the trailer not being ready. The movers were doing last-minute securement, so I decided to go across the street to grab a cup of Joe.
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Marylou’s Coffee Shop, Rockland, MD
Marylou’s is an aesthetically-pleasing coffee shop adorned in bright pink walls, countertops, solid-wood stools, and colorful signage. The floors complemented the delicate floral shades with monochromatic black & white like a gigantic checkerboard to dance on.
“Super cute. Really digging this decor,” I exclaimed. My immediate reaction was to pull out my handy Ricoh Theta V and take a 360 spherical shot of the pastel walls and dark checkered floors. I greeted the barista and asked if it was ok to shoot a picture.
“Umm, what for?” she asked sheepishly.
“Google Street View,” I replied matter-of-factly. So your customers can tour your shop in the comfort of their home.”
“Sure thing,” she replied. I quickly took the shot remotely controlling the shutter with my iPhone, reviewed it, then brought the phone over to her so she could see it, too. “Oh cool, that looks fine,” she replied.
I nodded in agreement and thanked her kindly. Then I sat down next to a counter by the window facing the main street. From there I could see the red of my truck next to Casey’s. But there was one more thing I needed to do before I picked up my load. I turned on my laptop and opened Google maps. I wanted to double-check my route and check on the traffic heading south. It was the busiest time of the year to drive – it would be a hell of a day to drive.
Then just as I was about ready to shut down my laptop, a lady taps me on the shoulder.
“Hi, I’m Jen. I’m a marketing manager for the company, and I just happened to be here working on a new promotion for our latte. I understand you wanted to take a picture of the store. Can I ask why?”
“Yes, it’s for Google Street View – so customers can see inside the business on their phones.”
The lady paused for a long second as she reviewed the image. “Do you work for Google?”
“No, I actually work for RUNINOut as I turned my laptop towards her to show the homepage of my site. But Google no longer dispatches its own crew to capture local businesses. Instead, the work is crowdsourced to their street-view trusted photographers,” I replied nonchalantly as I handed her my card.
“Why didn’t you call ahead that you were coming?”
“Well, I’ve never heard of Marylou’s before. I just came over to grab a cup of coffee and noticed on the Google Street view app that you don’t have an interior street view posted online.”
The lady glanced at my site, then at the picture I took. She seemed satisfied with what she saw and then mentioned that she had to check on something and would be back shortly. She was back before I could exhale
“I just called Corporate. We would appreciate it if you depart the premises immediately.”
I faced her and met her strong gaze in disbelief. Why the sudden stern tone, I thought. ‘Certainly. I’ll leave right now,” I said. I was ready to go anyway and the trailer should be all set by now. “And if it’s ok, I send a message to the company’s Facebook page so you’ll know how to get ahold of me. In case you have any questions or issues with the picture.”
The lady thanked me despondently, and I headed off towards my truck ready to couple onto the trailer, carrying a family’s most cherished possessions.
The drive from Rockland, Mass wasn’t that bad except for a 10-mile stretch through Providence that turned into an idling parking lot. And once I got to New York, traffic once again came to a standstill. I-95 to the George Washington Bridge was bumper to bumper, and I needed a respite before I continued my drive on the NJ Turnpike.
I got off at the first exit in West Bronx to escape from it all. Being a Washingtonian where the entire metro in the city is deeply submerged, I forgot that wasn’t the case for the outer boroughs of New York. In both the Bronx and Queens, the 115-year-old train tracks were built long before the invention of the tractor-trailer. The poorly-designed elevated train tracks criss-cross all over the city with abandon and minimal heads up.
As I approached the tracks, I was immediately faced with a critical juncture. There was no outlet ahead – I had to either turn left or right. And right turns are a big no-no in El Bronx.
So I first steered all the way right and waited till the very last moment before I cut to the left, making the widest turn I could muster. But I had 53 feet of trailer behind me and an enormous steel platform support structure would not move out of my way.
This wasn’t my trailer where I could afford a nick or scratch here or there. It belonged to Casey’s Movers and if it took any damage, I would be paying for it.
I stopped in the middle of the intersection, amongst honking and yelling and NYC drivers are notorious for their aggressive display of road rage. Despite my heightened stress, I wasn’t gonna rush this turn. I rocked the truck back and forth until I cleared the last support by a hair’s breadth. But I wasn’t out of the woods yet. Back in the 1800’s structural engineering was not nearly as advanced as it is today. Steel was bulky and not as dense, so engineers installed beams every 100 feet on both sides of the tracks to support the weight. If you were lucky to clear the rear support from the driver’s side you may not be so lucky to clear the support ahead on the passenger side. This was the case and my NYC excursion was quickly turning into a nightmare.
I grimaced – was beginning to regret coming into the city. Maybe I should have stayed in Rockland and left the following morning. But that lady at Marylou’s demanded I leave, and I wasn’t planning on hanging out in the parking lot.
Every New Yorker knows not to drive a semi under the outdated elevated railroad tracks. And like an ignorant outsider, I continued my twists and turns before I was able to clear the final beam. Hurray!
After my close call, I found a spot to park and was ready for a hot meal and a cold drink. Usually, any street vendor would do, but heck I’m in the Bronx and this city has many flavors than a vape megastore.
A few blocks away I found a colorful Caribbean eatery with tropical decor that I couldn’t resist. A couple with long dreads were enjoying their hookahs in the patio surrounded by potted palm trees. Inside, I discovered a charming restaurant that was emptying since it was pushing 9.
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Melanie’s Roti in the Bronx
A lady quickly approached and handed me a menu assuring me that I had plenty of time to order.
I introduced myself, and the lady returned a genuine smile and a firm hand.
“I’m Suneta,” she said smilingly. “My husband Tillock is by the bar. He’ll make you any drink you want and just ask if you want a heavier pour.”
He waived then I walked over and inquired about the name.
“So who is Melanie (referring to the name Melanie’s Roti)?”
“Our daughter,” Tillock answered, as he pointed to her picture on the wall. All four walls were painted in Guyana gold and by the bar, the national flag and coat of arms was on proud display.
“So I ‘m a big fan of roti,” I mentioned. “I ate it frequently dipping it in warm, Malay curry when I lived in Singapore. I love the sweetness and soft texture.”
“That’s great. Guyanese roti is a bit different. We use stoneground wholemeal flour so it’s a little softer. Try it yourself”
I sat down at the bar and was greeted by Nicole who wore a tight, vertically striped dress in green, red, and gold.
“Make me something smooth but strong,” I requested. “I’ve had a heck of a day on the road, and I wanna be rocked gently to sleep tonight.”
Nicole quickly went to work and concocted a Henny Colada, Hennessy Cognac 40% ABV. I downed it quickly – it was indeed juicy and creamy with a heavy kick.
“Glad you like the Henny – you should come back tomorrow. We have the best happy hour on the hill,” Nicole said with a smile.
Suneta recommended I try the jerk chicken fried rice or the Chow Mein seasoned with Caribbean curry and soy sauce. Apparently, Guyanese food is a fusion of many influences: African, Creole, East Indian, Amerindian, Portuguese, and Chinese. Suneta was right about the roti – it was soft and tasty – the best I’ve had in years. And the jerk chicken fried rice – Wow! Tasty, well seasoned and the chicken had a nice kick.
Overall the place was very colorful, the owners were nice and the jerk fried rice and roti was on point. Full and fulfilled, my soul satisfied, I was ready to crash and then onto DC.
The next day, my Fourth of July drive down to DC wasn’t bad. I wasn’t in a hurry to go home, but to attend Trump’s elaborate Salute to America bash. There are very few things about Trump that I am ecstatic about, and this is one of them. Trump, the reality TV star, is all about shows and ratings.
First, there was a big parade of fife and drum bands and Boy Scout troops along Constitution Ave. Then there was the Salute to America extravaganza at the Lincoln Memorial. Flanked by 75-ton Bradley armored vehicles and M1A2 tanks. In front of the statue of Abraham Lincoln, Trump paid homage to the five branches of the military as a chorus sang each service hymn while he cued the arrival of fighter jets, helicopters, Air Force One, and other military aircraft as they roared overhead.
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Crowds flock to National Mall for ‘Salute to America’
Speaking to a rain-soaked audience filled with troops decked out in “Make America Great Again” and “Trump 2020” paraphernalia, the president finally presided over the grand military display that he has wanted since witnessing the Bastille Day parade in Paris two years ago.
At first, Trump wanted the Bradley tanks to parade around the Lincoln Memorial. But 75 tons was too much weight to roll across the Arlington Memorial Bridge.
In a 45-minute, surprisingly non-partisan speech, the president singled out a long list of Americans for their contributions to science, medicine, politics, and the arts. He also praised a slew of things from the civil rights movement to space exploration and eulogized our national heroes such as Harriet Tubman and Chuck Yeager. But he spent most of his time recounting the progression of the armed forces, ending his remarks as the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” blared through huge speakers and the Blue Angels roared overhead.
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The Blue Angels fly over Lincoln Memorial during Salute to America Extravaganza
“I heard this birthday party set us back $13 million, double the cost of previous years???
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Big Cherry in front of the US Capitol
* * *
The following Monday, I delivered a load of household goods to a cheerful family and was able to secure a backhaul of aluminum rods from Baltimore to Boston in order to leverage my earnings. As I brought the trailer to the parking lot of Casey’s I realized I was famished. Mouth-watering images of Marylou’s hot breakfast sandwiches whetted my appetite, and I had completely forgotten that the manager had previously asked me to leave. I approached the counter and ordered a sausage and egg on an everything bagel and cafe latte.
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Marylou’s Coffee Shop
Then I walked around the coffee shop looking for an outlet for my laptop. The food came quickly, and I took a load off. I had not taken a second bite when I noticed three police officers enter the premises. They quickly checked in with the manager and then approached me suspiciously. Clearly, they’re not here for me. Is there something wrong with my truck? “I hear you’re taking pictures!” A strong voice bellowed. I looked bewildered. Was he asking or telling? Either way, the question was strange and rhetorical.
“Not today,” I replied. “I was last week though. why do you ask?”
“We got a complaint that you are trespassing. May we see an ID?”
“Why do you need to see my ID. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We need to see your ID so we can write a no trespassing order, so you’ll be formally notified never to come back.”
“I’m not trespassing sir. No one ever told me I couldn’t be here. I’m a paying client trying to eat my breakfast in peace. However, if you like, I’d be happy to carry out my food and depart the premises”
“Not until you provide an ID.”
“Whoa, am I under arrest?”
“Not yet, but if you don’t cooperate, you could be. What is your name and what are you doing here?” the officer asked sternly.
“My name is Chito Peppler. I’m a truck driver from Washington, DC, and I was just enjoying my breakfast and coffee so I don’t starve before I head back home.”
“Why won’t you show us your ID?”
“Because I haven’t done anything wrong sir. I know the law. Massachusetts is not a Stop and ID state. Now I have things to do. So can I please leave now?”
“No you may not – until you show us your ID.” I winced in disgust. Then I picked up my bag and started to leave. A big, burly officer who towered over me blocked my way. Unsure of what to do next, I reached over to grab my phone to start recording just in case they try something funny. But I never got the chance. The officers immediately jumped into action.
They slammed me hard against the window and turned me around like a crumpled-up ragdoll. One officer grabbed my phone. The other cuffed me and then marched me into his idling cruiser, pushing me hard into the backseat. They drove me into the precinct which was only a 5-minute walk from the coffee shop. There they emptied my backpack, found my military ID, and exclaimed.
“You were in the Navy! You should have shown us this in the first place – all this nonsense could have been avoided.”
“What, just because I’m a veteran? I’m standing up for all people – military, civilian, citizens and the undocumented against unlawful detention and arrest.”
“This is the second time, we’ve been called on you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never talked to the Rockland police before. The last time I was at the coffee shop was a week ago, when they asked me to leave, without incident.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“They never said I couldn’t. And they never told me what the issue was in the first place. And they surely had no problem taking my money today.”
Wait. Hold up. I’m talking too much to the police. Best to invoke my rights from here, and save it for court. The detention took over four hours.
They photographed, fingerprinted me, and charged me for Witness Intimidation, Disturbing the Peace, and Disorderly Conduct.
Thankfully, I had $140 in cash handy to pay my bail. Otherwise, I would be spending the weekend locked up.
I was then ordered to return to Hingham District Court for my arraignment on Monday. On the way out, they handed me a Letter of No Trespass. Not a problem – I’m giving Marylou’s – this one as well as all 40 of them – a wide berth, and I hope to never come back.