Truck #88031.
It’s not too often that I can recall a memory decades after it happened and it's still just ass cringeworthy when I think about it today.
Back when I worked within the city of Toronto as a driver I witnessed so many bizarre, unbelievable incidents. Over the years I have been telling my stories and some are so crazy many find them hard to believe. I have been told quite a few times that I should write a book and share some of my stories. If not for anything else they would definitely make for some very interesting reading.
Here is one of those bizarre, crazy and cringeworthy stories.
One of my largest accounts when I was employed by York Ice Cream was the hospital food service account. The ice cream contract would be tendered every few years and York always won. Beatrice Foods had bought out York Ice Cream back in the mid-80's and they too were now coming in with the lowest bids.
The truth is I don’t think either of the other two much larger companies really wanted the contract anyway. It simply was not as profitable delivering ice cream to all the hospitals since there was much more profit to be made delivering the same ice cream to the retail sector. Beatrice already had the milk contract locked up for years so it just made more sense for one company to supply and deliver all dairy products to all the hospitals. My route for the most part was the inner city of Toronto and there were easily a couple dozen hospitals on my route.
Sick people sure eat an awful lot of ice cream.
For the most part, the larger hospitals would get one delivery every week and the smaller hospitals just a single delivery every two weeks. The ice cream was packaged in a single serve insulated foam dixie cup with each cup having a small individually wrapped wooden paddle spoon. Only four flavors were available to the hospitals, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and orange sherbet.
My story begins on the receiving dock of one of the larger hospitals, the Toronto Western Hospital located at Bathurst and Dundas streets. It was my first delivery on that Thursday morning. I was there at the crack of dawn and I had a very busy day ahead of me. I was parked at one of the two loading docks preparing the ice cream order inside my truck. My co-worker Paul was the milk driver and he was parked right beside me at the other dock unloading cases of milk.
I had been on vacation the previous week.
When I showed up to work on the Monday of that week I was assigned to drive another truck. It wasn’t that odd since drivers would always be on a spare truck when their regular truck went in for service. If the scheduled service was a major service, then it would be completely normal to drive one of the spare trucks for up to a week while your truck was in the shop. I had just assumed my truck was in for a major service that week while I drove what I thought was one of the spare trucks #88031.
I already had the truck checked twice during that week because there was a slow leak in the outside right rear tire. I was told the tire had been recently replaced so the tire guy just added air both times and the tire was fine each morning when I did my daily circle check. No worries, the tire guy was always around the yard in the evenings anyway.
Paul entered my truck from the back barn doors and it quickly became very foggy inside. A burst of humid summer air from outside clashed with the twenty below blast of winter inside. I could barely see Paul in the fog, but I heard him.
“So you’re the one who got eighty-eight thirty-one.” He said.
“Yeah, my truck must be in for service,” I replied
“I was off last week,” I added.
The fog had now dissipated a bit and I could see Paul was standing right in front of me.
“Oh, so you didn’t hear what happened?” he asked me.
“What are you talking about, hear what?” I replied.
Paul began to explain in detail what had happened during the week while I was off. It seems one of the other drivers regularly drove truck #88031 and it was his truck and not a spare like I had originally thought. The other driver was making his usual 5 am delivery one morning a few blocks away over at one of the smaller hospitals, the Mental Health Centre (MHC). At the MHC the receiving bay and dock are in a very tight and dimly lit area. It is not the easiest place to maneuver a big truck, especially in the dark. There is always a security guard on duty who watches the area all night in case any of the patients attempt to leave. I had backed into the same dock many times myself and often my rear wheels would kiss the curb while I was backing up.
Anyways as the driver was backing up the guard was frantically waving his hands and yelling for him to stop. But he couldn't hear him because of the loud refrigeration unit sitting above the cab. He didn't see the guard because he was concentrating on his side mirrors while attempting to align his truck up with the dimly lit loading dock. There should have been much better lighting on that loading dock for making night deliveries.
In the darkness a woman patient had come out from behind the dock and she laid on the pavement directly behind the reversing truck. She placed her head directly behind the oncoming rear right wheel. The driver unknowingly backed up right over her head and crushed her skull. He most likely thought he too had just kissed the curb like I had done many times.
The driver had no idea what had happened as he turned the truck off and got out to make his delivery. The security guard went into a state of shock as did the driver once he saw what had happened. One of my bosses had to drive down to pick him up and take him home. The truck remained at the receiving dock for most of the day while the cops investigated the accident. The company sent down another driver to pick it up and drive it back to our yard up in Bramalea.
I didn't believe what Paul was telling me.
"No fuck'n way, you're shitting me," I said.
Paul then left my truck with a big grin on his face. I made all my deliveries for the rest of the day, but I could not stop thinking about what Paul had told me that morning. I got back to the yard late in the afternoon, I parked the truck and went upstairs to do my paperwork and cash out. The first thing I did before anything else was to confront my boss. I asked him if what Paul had told me in the morning was true.
It was.
My boss explained that once word got out about the incident at the MHC, none of the other drivers wanted to drive the truck. The driver was going to be off work for a while and since I had been off that week, I would have no idea of what had happened and truck #88031 would now become my truck.
“Well, I'm not driving that truck again either,” I said.
He knew I was pissed off and he said nothing as I began doing my paperwork. About a half hour later I was finished and had cashed out, I then headed down to my car in the parking lot to go home. I saw one of the tire guys in the yard over at the truck and he had already taken the tire off the rim. I walked over to inquire if he had heard anything about the incident, but he knew nothing about it. While we were standing there chatting he kept trying to pry something out that was embedded in the tread of the tire.
“I think I found the reason why the tire keeps leaking air.” He said as he continued trying to pry the object out.
I was just about to leave when the piece popped out; it was now sitting on the pavement between us. It was obvious to both of us it was not your typical road debris causing the tire to leak air. Instead, it appeared to be a small jagged chunk of what looked like bone or a piece of skull.
Seriously, I can’t make this shit up.
Needless to say, from that day on no other driver at Beatrice Foods ever drove truck #88031 again. The truck sat at the far end of the yard and the company eventually sold it. It was many weeks before the other driver came back to work and soon after he left the company to go out on his own as an owner-operator. I rarely delivered to the Mental Health Centre again, but when I did there was a new security guard on duty. I was told the guard who had witnessed the incident never returned back to his post.
Even after all these years, I still cannot fathom how any person would want to end their life by having a truck drive over and crush their skull. It is quite obvious the woman had severe mental health issues and that is why she was where she was.
Someone should have done a better job watching her.
Life must really suck for some people.
Back when I worked within the city of Toronto as a driver I witnessed so many bizarre, unbelievable incidents. Over the years I have been telling my stories and some are so crazy many find them hard to believe. I have been told quite a few times that I should write a book and share some of my stories. If not for anything else they would definitely make for some very interesting reading.
Here is one of those bizarre, crazy and cringeworthy stories.
One of my largest accounts when I was employed by York Ice Cream was the hospital food service account. The ice cream contract would be tendered every few years and York always won. Beatrice Foods had bought out York Ice Cream back in the mid-80's and they too were now coming in with the lowest bids.
The truth is I don’t think either of the other two much larger companies really wanted the contract anyway. It simply was not as profitable delivering ice cream to all the hospitals since there was much more profit to be made delivering the same ice cream to the retail sector. Beatrice already had the milk contract locked up for years so it just made more sense for one company to supply and deliver all dairy products to all the hospitals. My route for the most part was the inner city of Toronto and there were easily a couple dozen hospitals on my route.
Sick people sure eat an awful lot of ice cream.
For the most part, the larger hospitals would get one delivery every week and the smaller hospitals just a single delivery every two weeks. The ice cream was packaged in a single serve insulated foam dixie cup with each cup having a small individually wrapped wooden paddle spoon. Only four flavors were available to the hospitals, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry and orange sherbet.
My story begins on the receiving dock of one of the larger hospitals, the Toronto Western Hospital located at Bathurst and Dundas streets. It was my first delivery on that Thursday morning. I was there at the crack of dawn and I had a very busy day ahead of me. I was parked at one of the two loading docks preparing the ice cream order inside my truck. My co-worker Paul was the milk driver and he was parked right beside me at the other dock unloading cases of milk.
I had been on vacation the previous week.
When I showed up to work on the Monday of that week I was assigned to drive another truck. It wasn’t that odd since drivers would always be on a spare truck when their regular truck went in for service. If the scheduled service was a major service, then it would be completely normal to drive one of the spare trucks for up to a week while your truck was in the shop. I had just assumed my truck was in for a major service that week while I drove what I thought was one of the spare trucks #88031.
I already had the truck checked twice during that week because there was a slow leak in the outside right rear tire. I was told the tire had been recently replaced so the tire guy just added air both times and the tire was fine each morning when I did my daily circle check. No worries, the tire guy was always around the yard in the evenings anyway.
Paul entered my truck from the back barn doors and it quickly became very foggy inside. A burst of humid summer air from outside clashed with the twenty below blast of winter inside. I could barely see Paul in the fog, but I heard him.
“So you’re the one who got eighty-eight thirty-one.” He said.
“Yeah, my truck must be in for service,” I replied
“I was off last week,” I added.
The fog had now dissipated a bit and I could see Paul was standing right in front of me.
“Oh, so you didn’t hear what happened?” he asked me.
“What are you talking about, hear what?” I replied.
Paul began to explain in detail what had happened during the week while I was off. It seems one of the other drivers regularly drove truck #88031 and it was his truck and not a spare like I had originally thought. The other driver was making his usual 5 am delivery one morning a few blocks away over at one of the smaller hospitals, the Mental Health Centre (MHC). At the MHC the receiving bay and dock are in a very tight and dimly lit area. It is not the easiest place to maneuver a big truck, especially in the dark. There is always a security guard on duty who watches the area all night in case any of the patients attempt to leave. I had backed into the same dock many times myself and often my rear wheels would kiss the curb while I was backing up.
Anyways as the driver was backing up the guard was frantically waving his hands and yelling for him to stop. But he couldn't hear him because of the loud refrigeration unit sitting above the cab. He didn't see the guard because he was concentrating on his side mirrors while attempting to align his truck up with the dimly lit loading dock. There should have been much better lighting on that loading dock for making night deliveries.
In the darkness a woman patient had come out from behind the dock and she laid on the pavement directly behind the reversing truck. She placed her head directly behind the oncoming rear right wheel. The driver unknowingly backed up right over her head and crushed her skull. He most likely thought he too had just kissed the curb like I had done many times.
The driver had no idea what had happened as he turned the truck off and got out to make his delivery. The security guard went into a state of shock as did the driver once he saw what had happened. One of my bosses had to drive down to pick him up and take him home. The truck remained at the receiving dock for most of the day while the cops investigated the accident. The company sent down another driver to pick it up and drive it back to our yard up in Bramalea.
I didn't believe what Paul was telling me.
"No fuck'n way, you're shitting me," I said.
Paul then left my truck with a big grin on his face. I made all my deliveries for the rest of the day, but I could not stop thinking about what Paul had told me that morning. I got back to the yard late in the afternoon, I parked the truck and went upstairs to do my paperwork and cash out. The first thing I did before anything else was to confront my boss. I asked him if what Paul had told me in the morning was true.
It was.
My boss explained that once word got out about the incident at the MHC, none of the other drivers wanted to drive the truck. The driver was going to be off work for a while and since I had been off that week, I would have no idea of what had happened and truck #88031 would now become my truck.
“Well, I'm not driving that truck again either,” I said.
He knew I was pissed off and he said nothing as I began doing my paperwork. About a half hour later I was finished and had cashed out, I then headed down to my car in the parking lot to go home. I saw one of the tire guys in the yard over at the truck and he had already taken the tire off the rim. I walked over to inquire if he had heard anything about the incident, but he knew nothing about it. While we were standing there chatting he kept trying to pry something out that was embedded in the tread of the tire.
“I think I found the reason why the tire keeps leaking air.” He said as he continued trying to pry the object out.
I was just about to leave when the piece popped out; it was now sitting on the pavement between us. It was obvious to both of us it was not your typical road debris causing the tire to leak air. Instead, it appeared to be a small jagged chunk of what looked like bone or a piece of skull.
Seriously, I can’t make this shit up.
Needless to say, from that day on no other driver at Beatrice Foods ever drove truck #88031 again. The truck sat at the far end of the yard and the company eventually sold it. It was many weeks before the other driver came back to work and soon after he left the company to go out on his own as an owner-operator. I rarely delivered to the Mental Health Centre again, but when I did there was a new security guard on duty. I was told the guard who had witnessed the incident never returned back to his post.
Even after all these years, I still cannot fathom how any person would want to end their life by having a truck drive over and crush their skull. It is quite obvious the woman had severe mental health issues and that is why she was where she was.
Someone should have done a better job watching her.
Life must really suck for some people.
