I made the first delivery over by Pittsburgh first thing this morning. I had to turn into a very narrow alley in order to unload the excavator. My rig is not designed for turns that tight. I did the best I could to swing as wide as possible but still managed to clip a poorly placed street sign. Oh well, they should have set it further away from the corner.
Once the excavator was unloaded I had the guys stop traffic for me (loads of fun during morning rush hour) so I could back out of the alley, finish off the road sign, and be on my way to the port in Baltimore.
Our port system really could use some streamlining. Of course, being as pretty much everyone who works in a port is either union or a government employee I don't see that happening any time soon. When I arrived I went through the normal security check. I then proceeded to try and find the correct terminal. The security officer had told me to go to the light and turn right and then follow the signs.
I made the right at the light and drove all the way to the water without ever seeing the first damn sign. *sigh*. I turned around in a berthing area and headed back to the light. I turned right and then right again at the next light. Sure enough, there were the frigging signs. I guess that security officer can't count to two, which gives one a warm and fuzzy feeling about Homeland Security doesn't it?
I pulled into the correct terminal. I'll be damned the number on the building even matches the paperwork. Must be the right place. I went inside and asked for "Barbara" as I had been instructed. I was directed upstairs. My hip really hates stairs but up I went. Barbara gave me the carnet (customs paperwork for vehicles) for the military truck and directed me to go to customs with the carnet, title, copies of the title, and copies of the dock receipts. She was even nice enough to sort all of the titles, copies, etc and stapled them together in nice little matching groups for me.
I then went back downstairs and back to my truck and drove it over to customs. I checked in with customs and handed the lady the neat stack of paperwork. She started asking some dumb questions about where the military truck was going. I informed her that all of that information was located in the carnet just as it should be. "Oh, you have a carnet? Well, in that case you see to see that man over there." and pointed one desk over to my left where another bored looking customs officer was sitting. *sigh*
I took the two steps to my left and presented him with the neatly stacked and stapled paperwork. He thumbed through it for a moment and then promptly began removing all of the staples. *sigh*. This took a minute or two. He then asked me if the truck was shrink wrapped or in a container.
"Huh? It's a truck dude."
"Yeah, but is it in a container or shrink wrapped?"
"Ok, try and stay with me here fella, it's a military truck. Ok? It's painted green, has really big tires, and is sitting on my damn trailer. Maybe we should just walk outside so you can see for yourself. Things might go a little quicker."
I hadn't eaten all day and was getting a little testy at this point.
So he took another minute to put on his jacket. Literally, it took this sloth a full minute to put on a damn jacket. We then walked outside so he could visualize what a frigging truck looks like sitting on a trailer.
"Oh, ok. The truck? The green one?"
I am resisting the urge to strangle this moron.
"Yeah, that's what I said about 10 minutes ago. Several times."
"Ok."
We walk back inside and he takes another minute to remove his jacket, sits down, and begins going through the paperwork again. I swear he looked at the same pages at least five times each. He then says that I need to write the truck's VIN number on all of the copies of the dock receipts.
"Why? There's a copy of the title stapled to each one. Well, at least there was until you unstapled them all."
"I need it written on each dock receipt."
I surrender to the stupidity of the situation and waste three or four minutes copying the VIN number from the title onto each of the dock receipt copies, and then hand it all back to him again.
"Ok, we just need to go outside and verify that the VIN number matches what's on the paperwork."
"We could have done that while we were out there the first time."
He looks at me like I'm the moron. "It wasn't on the dock receipts then."
I'm ready to pull my hair out. The asshole had the title in his frigging hand when we were out there. It would have taken five seconds to verify it then. Another minute to put his jacket back on again and then we walk out to the truck. I stand there looking at him and he stands there looking at me. Finally he asks "Do you know where the VIN number is located?"
"You're a customs officer and you don't know where to find the VIN number?" I'm just not believing this shit. I opened the driver's door and point to the data plate attached to the frame. "You might wanna look there. Same place it is on all of them." He gives me a dirty look and checks the VIN.
We then walk back inside, he spends another minute removing his jacket, and then goes back to looking over the same damn pages he's already looked at the five previous times. Finally he the sloth slowly begins stamping everything that needs stamped, signing what needs signed, and initialing everything that needs initialed. Another ten minutes and I am finally out of customs and heading back to the terminal office to see Barbara again. I give her all of the paperwork and she gives me back what I need and directs me to go downstairs and check in to be received. *sigh*
I stand in line downstairs for a while. I finally check in with the guy there under the sign that says "Start Here" (not a good sign). He looks over the paperwork, checks the booking number in his computer, hands everything back to me and directs me to go stand in line #1. What is this, the damn DMV?
I finally get to the head of line #1 (which technically is line #2). This guy appears to do the same stuff the first guy did, a label prints out, he staples it to everything, hands it all back to me, and directs me to walk to the office in the next building over. Jesus on a frigging pony!
I walk over there and stand at the counter for five damn minutes while the asshat there is on his cell phone on an obvious personal call. He finally gets tired of my "I am about to kill you" looks and ends his call. I had been standing there staring straight at him the entire time.
He looks over my paperwork, directs me to drive down to the berth area, detach, and drive the truck off. "Someone will come down there with your signed paperwork."
Uh huh, I'll bet they get there quick too.
I drove down, detached, unloaded the truck, reattached, and sat for about another 30 minutes. Finally some asshat Longshoreman comes by with my paperwork so I can get the hell out of there. I was there a total of three hours for a delivery that should take 30 minutes tops and I did all the damn work.
If terrorists ever attack us again I hope it's at that damn port.
I am going to put in a movie and knit now, before I give in to the urge to strangle somebody.