Postmortem

Today started with a drug test. Apparently it is company policy to test any employees who are involved in an accident on company time. They made Lizzie go also, even though she wasn't driving. They said her test was to prevent the other party from claiming that she was the one driving and was impaired, and that I'm somehow covering for her.

Apparently they were supposed to send us for testing immediately Saturday, but the clinic they normally use isn't open on weekends. We could have had the test done at just about any hospital. I guess it just didn't seem like a priority then. So, even though I worked the entire day yesterday with no problems, this morning they called me and told me not to come to work until I had gone to pee in the cup.

I'm clean, if anybody's wondering.

The other big events today were a couple of meetings. The first was with CP Rick and Jake the Engineer. The second was with CP Rick, the news director and the human resources lady.

In the first postmortem, Jake and Rick had me go over exactly what happened one more time. To recap, just as I was entering a curve in our microwave van, the mast alarm sounded and the mast warning lights flashed just for an instant. Then the engine died. Those warnings are meant to signal that the mast isn't all the way down in the stowed position for driving. The goal is to keep people from driving away with the mast up and taking out a bunch of telephone or power lines. Jake recently installed a system on the truck that also kills the engine if the mast is up. I explained that once the engine died, I couldn't get it off the road before the Guy in the Silver Honda nailed me.

Jake nodded. "It's probly that switch on the mast," he said. "That triggers everything, lights, alarm and kill switch."

Rick seemed irritated at that. "That's been happening for a while," he said. "We'll just be driving down the road and that damned thing will go off."

Apparently this has been happening even though the mast was completely stowed, although this was the first time I had witnessed the failure myself. The difference is that before Jake's handiwork, that switch didn't kill the engine; it just caused a god-awful racket that at worst would simply induce an involuntary bowel movement.

"I don' know what you expected me to do about THAT," Jake said. "Nobody ever told me there was any problem with the mast alarm."

"Seems like something you oughta have checked before wiring up a kill switch to it," Rick responded. "It coulda gotten somebody killed."

Jake shrugged. "I cain't fix what I don't know's broke," he said.

Apparently the damage isn't as bad as it looked, and the truck can be repaired. Unfortunately the impact damaged the generator, which is mounted in the rear of the van. Jake actually seemed pleased about that.

"I been wantin' to rebuild that genny anyway," he said.

Unfortunately, not everybody is as happy as Jake about his new project. Apparently the Guy in the Silver Honda who hit me has decided that the accident was my fault for having the truck there without any flares or cones out to mark the area. He has already had a lawyer call the station, and apparently the lawyer was under the impression that I was trying to set the truck up there for a live shot. His call was the main subject of the second meeting, and it was probably the reason I had to visit the piss clinic today. The station says they're convinced I did nothing wrong and are ready to fight him if Guy in the Silver Honda tries to sue us.

Again, I'm not in any trouble over this, nor do I appear to be in danger of losing my job. However, there is one thing that is worrying me. During the meeting the HR lady asked me for my insurance information for my personal vehicle. I gave her my insurance card, and she made a copy. Now I'm thinking that maybe that wasn't such a bright thing to do. I can't think of any reason why the station should need my insurance policy information, since I was driving a company vehicle on company time. I sure as hell can't afford an increase on the premium on my truck if they try to file a claim, especially on what they pay me.

To add insult to injury, Sarah was characteristically angry that I had meetings that forced her to wait fifteen minutes to get started. She was in the afternoon story meeting through most of the time I was occupied, so I really didn't hold her up for very long. Even so, the whole night she acted like we were way behind and was making a big show of being in a hurry. She stomped around like she was in a hurry, slammed the van door like she was in a hurry... She got in such a hurry that she fumbled and dropped my wireless audio transmitter, and now it doesn't work. We had to do all our interviews tonight with a microphone on a cable. The shortest cable I have in my kit is twenty feet, and I don't have any sort of cable ties, so it kept getting tangled up on me and everything else. Of course, that just irritated Sarah that much more.

I'm actually starting to dislike that girl.

She gave me the story to edit at 25 minutes before the newscast. It's a good thing we didn't have a live shot tonight. Thanks, Jake and Guy in the Silver Honda.

The bright spot in my day came when I gave Lynn a ride home tonight. Her car is fixed now, but for some reason she has decided that carpooling is better. She got a ride into the station with one of the studio grunts (since I had to go pee in a cup and couldn't be her chauffeur), but she came right up to me after the show was over and asked if I could give her a ride home. Hell yes--er, I mean, it would be my pleasure.

"I heard you had an adventure this weekend," she said, once we were in the Hate Van.

"Yeah, I killed the live truck," I said.

"How are you feeling? Are you okay?" she asked. The smirk was gone, and she sounded genuinely concerned.

"Ah, my neck hurt a little yesterday morning, but I'm fine. It was a pretty good jolt. Lizzie stayed home yesterday."

"I know," she said. "I talked to her. I was worried about you."

"Oh," I said. "Thanks." That made me feel warm.

"I was afraid I had lost my ride," she said. She was smirking again.

Damn. I'm in love.