New Year's Day

Seven-o-six on New Year's morning...not even enough time to get over a hangover...I get a call. We're starting already, I thought.
"Gary," said Brent, our mechanic, "it works like a charm. I've been here all night working on that goddamn truck , and as soon as I put the other new one on and bled it for a minute, it started working."
"You've been all night on the power steering pump?" I asked.
"No," said Brent. "It was almost midnight when Jeff and I got through with Nick's truck. So I decided to stay here and put the other pump on that Jeff picked up yesterday. I got it done at about two-thirty, but I wasn't going to call you then."
"I'm glad you let me sleep," I said.
"And I stayed and finished everything I had to do to it so I can take today and tomorrow off."
"That new pump you put on was defective," I said.
"Damn right," said Brent.
"Happy New Year," I said.
"Gary," said Brent. "When are you coming to the shop?"
"I'll be there in a little while," I said. "I want to check the reefers."
"You think I could borrow a hundred bucks?" asked Brent.
"Yeah," I said. "I can get that for you." It's the least I could do for the poor bastard. He's put in a lot of hours this holiday season, capped by his second all-nighter this week.
So I lay in bed a little longer, got up, showered, dressed, had my coffee, and headed for the garage. On my way there I called Brent to see if he wanted a coffee from McDonald's. He didn't answer my call. Must have left already, I thought...didn't need the money that badly.
Good...I'll just grab a quick coffee, check the units, and go home to some football before going to my mother's for New Year's dinner...macaroni, my favorite. Mom's sauce is the best, just like every Italian's mother's sauce is the best to their sons.
When I drove into the yard I didn't see the truck Brent had spent the night repairing. What the hell, I thought. What the hell. I didn't like what I was thinking.
"It won't build up any air pressure," said Brent when I walked into the garage. "I've been trying to get it to build air pressure ever since I called you."
"Now it's the air!" I said.
"It won't do anything," said Brent. "The needles don't move."
"We just put that compressor on!" I said. "Two...three months ago."
"I've got a few more things I want to try," said Brent.
"I'll be in the office," I said.
"Ten minutes later, as I was taking my last sip of coffee, Brent walked into the office. "It's got to be the compressor," he said. "I've tried everything."
"I called here to see if you wanted a coffee, but you must have had the truck running and didn't hear the phone," I said, noticing that Brent had caught me with the McDonald's cup in my hand before I could throw it into the wastepaper basket.
"I just made a pot," he said.
"What do we do now?" I asked. "The truck has to go."
"Nothing we can do," said Brent. "It's New Year's Day!"
"Yeah, there is," I said.
Last night I had tried to call Penn Detroit Diesel Allison in Syracuse for some additional troubleshooting advice on Nick's truck (see previous blog), but the shop had closed early for New Year's Eve. When the call went to PDDA's voice mail, it gave the number for twenty-four hour emergency parts. I called and Ray, our savior, answered. I gave him the engine serial number and he said he had a compressor for the truck.
"Start working on that pot of coffee," I told Brent. "We've got to change that compressor. That truck has to go tonight."
"Then we have to change it," Brent said, although I could tell he was tired and didn't want to change it today.
"I'll stay here with you and help you get the bitch out," I said. "Start on it while I go meet Ray at Detroit."
I called Judy and told her what happened....and that I couldn't make my mother's New Year's dinner. "Just bring home some macaroni," I told her. "You know I love my mother's macaroni reheated."
On my way to Syracuse I called for a favor. "God," I said. "I'm in a little trouble here. I've got a load of apples for our bread and butter customer on a truck that does not build air pressure. We think it's the air compressor, and this is not good. It means...and I know You know what it means...but in case it slipped Your mind, it means the truck can't move. And Brent drove the truck into the garage instead of backing it in...and we do not have a drive-thru garage...which means I can't unhook and put another tractor...which I don't have anyway because we are busy...under this trailer...and make delivery on time. So, You see my predicament here? I need this compressor badly. I know this is not one of Your bigger problems, but I need Your help to make this the right part...Let's You and I start the New Year on solid ground. What do You say? We got are deal here?"
"It's not the right compressor," said Brent. "Not even close."
"Bitch!" I said.
I called Ray again. "It's not the right compressor, Ray," I said. "Not even close."
"That's the right compressor for the engine serial number you gave me," he answered.
"But it's not the right one," I said. "There's got to be another one for this engine."
"I'll check again," said Ray.
"Better yet," I said. "I'll bring this one to you when we get it off."
While Brent finished unbolting the air compressor from the engine I started looking for the receipt for the compressor we changed a few months ago. The receipt should have a part number for the right compressor...Do you think I could find the damn thing? No, but I called Ray every time I thought I had found the right number.
"Ray," I said. "How about R23522707-C?" I asked.
"That's a water pump," he answered.
Five minutes later..."Ray, how about 14-13062-000?" I asked.
"That's a power steering gearbox," he answered.
"Yeah, we changed that bitch on this truck last summer," I said.
Five more minutes..."Ray, how's GEH4656?" I asked.
"That's a headlight," he answered.
"Sorry about that one, Ray, but I'm struggling here," I said. "I'm grasping at straws...And I'm ruining your New Year's Day."
"We'll get it right," he said.
And when Brent finally had the compressor off the engine.
"Ray," I said. "I'm bringing the thing to you now."
"I'll meet you there," he said.
Ray beat me to his shop and was studying his computer when I got there.
"Sorry to do this to you, Ray," I said. "But I'm in trouble if I don't get this truck on the road tonight."
"It's not your fault," he answered. "But I think I've got the right one this time. Let's see what you brought me."
It was a match. God and Ray came to bat for me and hit back to back home runs. Two hours later, when I heard Brent fire up the truck, I ran from my office to the garage and jumped into the cab. I glanced at the guages and saw both needles had started to move. I turned to Brent who was smiling and gave him a thumbs up and a hundred bucks.
"I'll call John and tell him he's ready to go," I said.
It was 9:15 pm...time for some warmed-up macaroni.

The Highway Reporter