Just as the trailer bumped up against the unloading dock at the large grocery store distribution center in Denver, the on board computer chirped and the message read: "When you are finished, please come up to the Office."

From what I could tell in my experience so far, drivers are not typically invited to mingle with office staff. The primary means of communication are on board computer and phone calls. To be invited to 'come to the office' with no further information as to the reason had the feel of having been involved in a high school prank, and now I was being summoned to the Principal's office. The invitation to come up to the office set my mind racing: Was it to further discuss my accident with the tree branch? Had someone complained to headquarters about my driving...I couldn't think of anything that would have been cause for that. Had a customer complained?  The driver handbook and orientation made it perfectly clear that my employment was 'at will' and that it could be terminated at any time for any reason, or for no reason at all. Was I about to hear some bad news?

For my last two home time schedules, I had gotten home several days later than requested.  My whole family was going to be gathered for Christmas, and this was one home time schedule that I really hoped they could keep.  I noted that I had been routed back to Denver a few days ahead of my home time requested date, so probably this time would be on-time, but now I had second thoughts.  Maybe they had routed me to Denver early not for home time after all, but to deliver bad news, or to discuss something unpleasant.

The load was soon unloaded and I returned empty to the Denver terminal. I unhooked the empty trailer, and parked and headed to the office with the load paperwork.  Once a load is completed, the paperwork is faxed to the Home Office for processing.  Given the long morning, and my general level of nervousness, my first stop was the restroom to empty my bladder.  Next, I went to the lounge and sent the load documents for the load just finished.  I then grabbed the door knob to the office, took a breath, and went inside.

My manager didn't immediately recognize me.  We had met only briefly on my first day several months ago. Our interaction since had been entirely by computer and by phone.  Once he recognized me, he informed me that I was here to take a random drug test.

Because a truck driver is in a safety sensitive position, the Department of Transportation requires drug testing and so far, I had been tested several times to satisfy those testing requirements.  This test, I was informed, was an internal company drug test and not a DOT required test.  I explained that I had just stopped at the restroom on my way upstairs.   "Well," he explained, "Now that you're here, you can't leave until the test is completed. You can go into the break room there and drink coffee or water until you're ready for the test."

The break room was small and typical of so many office break rooms that I had been in before, with all the typical signs:  Clean Up After Yourself.  Anything Left in the Fridge Will Be Thrown Away.  If You Use the Last Coffee, Make More...etc, etc. Since I'm not a coffee drinker, the water cooler was my ticket out of there.

As a teenager, I had injured one of my kidneys in an accident, and at the hospital, I was required to drink large amounts of water to flush the kidney out.  It is difficult for me to drink water when I'm not thirsty.  I recall sitting there in the hospital bed, the cup pressed to my lips, and simply unable to get any more water down.

I went to the water cooler and filled the cup and drank it as quickly as possible, then repeated.  This was all the water I could drink for now, so I sat at the table and waited for the water to quickly fill my bladder. Fifteen minutes later, nothing was happening, so I went to the water cooler and drank a couple more cups of water and sat down at the table again.

I didn't have my cell phone with me so browsing the internet or reading e-mails was not an option. Desperate for something to fill my unoccupied mind, I thumbed through the documents from the load that I had sent off to Home Office. My eyes fell on one of the items that had been on the load, and I tried to picture in my mind  how the package for a 13 oz Salisbury steak would look in the grocery freezer.  Next, I caught sight of an interesting item in the load: chicken fried rice. I love chicken fried rice!  But what would I do with 316 packages of it?

Still no sign at all of my bladder filling. I filled the cup again, and the water cooler bottle chugged, gurgled, and bubbled as the cup filled.  I pressed the cup to my lips and tried to drink the clear, tasteless liquid.  Two cups later, I went back to the table to await some kind of magic to happen.

Out in the office, I could hear one side of conversations as the driver managers did their job:
" No, if you take your 10-hour break now, you can still deliver on time tonight." From the other side of the room another driver manager's conversation continued:    "Did you scale the load?"  "How much did it weight?"  "Well, did you get an overweight ticket?"  I began to wonder how ridiculous the other side of my conversations with my manager must sound from time to time.

By now, 45 minutes must have passed, and my continued presence began to become uncomfortable for me. Determined to speed the process up, I stood at the cooler and forced myself to drink four consecutive cups of water.  Back at the table, I became increasingly frustrated. "Really? --- stubborn body of mine...you choose now to re-hydrate every cell in my body?"  "I've drank enough water to fill my bladder three or four times by now. Where is all that water going?" Out in the office, the conversations continued:  "What is the temperature on the bill of lading...is the reefer set on continuous, or stop/start?"   I drink three more cups of water.

Finally, after nearly an hour of drinking cup after cup of water, pondering the intricate details of the load that I had just delivered, and reading every sign available in the break room over and over again, I went back out into the office, and informed my manager that I was ready to attempt the test.  He summoned the guy from the Safety Department who would conduct the test.  In the restroom, the Safety Manager handed me the container and gave me instructions on how the test would proceed. "How much do you need?"  I asked nervously.  "To this line right here." He said, showing me the line on the container.  I stepped into the private stall and left every drop I could muster in the container. It just barely came to the line.

I went back out to the truck and laid down on the bed, happy that the reason for my visit to the office was for something as routine and mundane as a random drug test, and happy that after the ordeal of drinking all that water, I was finally able to finished the test.  I laid down in the bunk  to get ready for the next load later that night. I had just laid down when my bladder indicated that it was full, and all that water I had drank was now finally making its way to my bladder.  I got up, headed out into the winter day and went to the restroom, and returned to the truck. I had just laid down again and started to read my book when my bladder once again told me that it was full.  While I am grateful for my mostly healthy body, there are moments when its timing is most inconvenient.