No Malicious Intent

I spent the night at the Flying J in Blacksburg S.C. and just got back to the truck from a Hollywood shower and breakfast Barfette. An uneventful breakfast that didn't require the use of my Ka-Bar, and I didn't offend anyone.
When I got back to the truck Kitty was waiting for me on my seat. He has to smell my breath when I come back to the truck, wants to know what I ate while I was out.
Sometimes things just happen, Like the Cat tale, I couldn't have planned that any better, it just worked out that way.
In the early eighties I was working for a company out of Connecticut and delivered newspaper inserts to newspapers throughout the northeast. The advertisements that you get in the newspaper are printed by companies that ship them to the newspaper to be put in the paper. That's where I came in, I picked them up at the company where they are printed and delivered them to the paper.
I had a load going to Canandaigua N.Y. on the paperwork there was a phone number with the name Victor, I was supposed to call Victor when I got off the Thruway and Victor would come unload the truck. I stopped at a phone and called the number on my paperwork, a woman answered the phone.
"May I speak to Victor, Please?" This is about 04:00 Saturday morning.
"Wrong number!" Click. So I check the number and make sure I dialed correctly.
She answered again, "May I speak to Victor, Please?"
"Wrong number!" Slam.
So I called the shipper, "There's a phone number on my paperwork that I was told to call, it's the wrong number," I told the shipper.
"Hold on, let me try." I was on hold for thirty seconds and the shipper came back on the line, "Wow! She's Pissed!"
So I went to the newspaper, backed into the dock and went to sleep. About an hour later I felt the truck shake and got up and went inside with my paperwork. "Says here on the bills that I'm supposed to call this number." I showed the paperwork to the guy.
"Yup, That's Bobs phone number!"
"Bob?" I asked.
"Yup, my son Bob." he replied.
"Says here I'm supposed to call Victor." I told him.
"Bob lives in the town of Victor!" he told me.
Now it makes sense. A simple mistake. "May I use the phone, Please?"
He points at the phone and tells me to dial 9 to get out.
I dialed the number, Bob’s wife answered the phone, "This is Victor, did I get any calls?"

Okay, a little malicious intent.


"Life is too important to be taken seriously."