One night, my wife and I went to pick up a load in a deserted area in New Jersey.
Following the directions on our Qualcomm, we finally spotted an old, beat-up warehouse at about 2 AM. It had an empty parking lot with grass growing up through the cracks in the concrete and an over-grown, decrepit look which made it seem that this facility had not been used in years.
However, surrounding the warehouse was a brand-new chain link fence, higher than a man. There were new security lights all around, and a well-lit, and well-guarded gate.
We drove up, and the guard came out. He was very professionally dressed and his attitude was relaxed but professional.
When we explained that we were there to pick up a load, the guard told us to drive in and park near what is called a "man door" near the middle of the warehouse. He explained that no on was there, but that they would arrive about 6 AM. He told us we could get some sleep (always welcome to hear), and, once we saw cars there, we could go in and the people inside would arrange for our load.
We slept until about 6:30, and, when I looked out of the curtains, I saw three or four cars parked near the door.
I went over to the steps to the door, noticing that, except for the cars, the place looked even deserted and decrepit in the daylight. The door was unlocked and I went inside the warehouse.
The warehouse seemed as deserted inside as outside. It was huge inside, but there were shrink-wrapped loads on skids (pallets) at various point.
I saw what appeared to be an office a few hundred feet away and went there.
As was common, there was a window in the office, a bit like a movie ticket window, where I could hopefully get my load data. I had my Schneider "Pumpkin Pad" in my hand.
The pumpkin pad was an orange pad that Schneider drivers used to record load data. We copied the info from the original messages so that when we went inside a warehouse or plant, we would have all we needed to know about the load we were going to pick up.
Inside the office were five or six people.
One guy, sitting at a desk, was in shirt sleeves and looked like he worked in a warehouse.
The others were playing poker and looked like they were extras for the Sopranos. They all had suits, some of which did not fit that well.
One guy, a Frank Sinatra look-a-like (almost), looked up at me with a cigarette in his mouth and said, "Whadda youse want?"
A straightforward question, it sounded slightly menacing, like maybe I was not supposed to be there.
The other guys at the poker table had all turned to look at me with quiet, steady stares.
Sinatra looked at me for a few more seconds and then turned his head and spoke to the man at the desk. I could not hear what was said, but the guy at the desk looked at me for the first time and asked for the load info. I read it off my pad, and he riffled through some sheets of paper on his desk.
He finally stopped at one and looked it over, then turned and said something to Sinatra who had been watching him.
Sinatra slowly slid his eyes back to me and, with the cigarette still in his mouth, said, "Go round to door 46. Chollie'll take care o youse."
All the poker players had watched me intently through the whole process.
I went back out to my truck and told my wife what had happened. She and I had already had another experience that led us to believe that we might have been in a place where we wanted to be.
I wasn't quite sure about HOW "Chollie" would take care of me, but we drove around and backed up to the dock. A couple of minutes later, "Charlie" opened the door. Actually, he turned out to be a really nice guy. He loaded us up in just a few minutes, but, when we looked at the bills of lading, they said "FAK", which stands for "freight, all kinds".
In other words, we had no idea what was in that trailer, and, to tell the truth, we didn't really want to know.
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