The unknown side of the trucking industry

In the waiting room of a medical center, I meet a man, around sixty years old, with his arm in a sling. The poor cell phone reception forces us to put our phones away, and we discuss the slow patient care. We start a conversation about our respective ailments, and he tells me that he dislocated his shoulder while unloading a huge table from a truck. He works as a delivery driver for a logistics company. He's anxious because he's been off work for a month and isn't getting any better. He's lost strength in his arm and can't lift anything heavy. He can't drive either because of the pain. He's afraid of losing his job and, at his age, thinks it would be very difficult to find another one. He transports furniture that we buy online: tables, beds, wardrobes, chests of drawers, sofas, and all kinds of large furniture. He rattles off all the brands they sell because he's convinced I know them. And he's right. They're very popular home decor and furniture websites. He says I can't even imagine the sheer number of deliveries that go wrong each workday. Furniture that has traveled such a long way, from countries all over Europe, changing logistics centers and trucks multiple times, that the packaging deteriorates and the merchandise is damaged. Often, they unload very heavy packages, and once they leave it with the customer and the customer checks the condition of the furniture, they ask them to take it back. In fact, a large part of the trips are for returns. They have to go back and pick up what they delivered a few days earlier, either themselves or with their colleagues. He says there are times when he's been to the same house up to three times because of the unsuccessful attempts to get the furniture delivered properly. He also explains how often there aren't enough workers to carry the weight of the furniture. The day he was injured unloading the table, the transport document specified "minimum four workers." To put it on the truck at the warehouse, it took four men with the help of a crane. To deliver it to the customer's home, it took only two, which is the usual number. Every delivery is an adventure, and many end in failure. There are sofas or wardrobes that won't fit through the stairwell or in the elevator. After all the effort, they have to abandon their epic quest. Often, the failure is accompanied by boos and wails from dissatisfied customers. The man admits he doesn't know much about business, but he doesn't understand how these furniture companies survive given the losses he sees, both from damaged goods and failed deliveries. "It's just merchandise being thrown away," he tells me, "who knows where it'll end up." A huge amount of furniture, after being tossed around the city, will never reach the buyer's home. He's gotten used to it, but assures me that I'm not responsible for the number of pieces that are chipped, broken, or have manufacturing and assembly defects. It happens so often each day that when everything goes well, it feels like a miracle, because almost every delivery has a problem. He takes out his phone, opens the photo app, and starts scrolling through the images so I can see the pile of pictures he's accumulated on his phone to document the damage. He's not just doing it to submit the report, but to protect himself from any liability.

The waiting room screen tells him it's his turn for an appointment. We say goodbye, and I wish him the best of luck with his recovery. I thank him for the information, and the man laughs and tells me that if I buy some furniture, perhaps we'll meet again at my front door. I hope so, I say, because it will mean he's back in shape. But after learning more about the other side of these purchases, he doesn't exactly encourage me to try it.