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Ah, South Florida. Land of sun, sand, and apparently, disappearing brokers. Let me set the scene: me, a humble Carrier just trying to do my job, gets handed a load that seems simple enough—pick up from Junction Craft and deliver to Rational Brands in Salt Lake City, UT. You know, straightforward. Easy. Humanly possible.
But no. That would’ve been too simple.
Enter South Florida Brokers LLC. Sounds like a respectable finance firm, right? Nope. More like a casting agency for a reality show called “Who Can Ghost Addy Fastest?” (USDOT 3426608, MC-1109092, EIN 85-0869912, Principal: 2303 Stirling Rd, Building 3, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33312. For those who like their comedy with receipts.) Their point person, Alex Altreche, is basically Houdini. Every time I call about payment, he disappears like my will to live after reading 50 “urgent” emails in a row.
Then there’s Junction Craft—which I thought was a hipster brewery, because why not? Stuart Wheldon and Brandon, the masterminds there, orchestrate a plot twist that would make Netflix execs jealous. The load came from a mysterious third party, invisible to the human eye, probably with a license to vanish. And the best part? They “can’t disclose” who deals with Rational Brands. Yeah, because hauling boxes is clearly classified intel.
Speaking of Rational Brands Inc., the “rational” ones… Kerri Kucera replied to one email. One email. Then ghosted me harder than my last online date. Never answered another. Phone calls? Ignored. Texts? Ignored. I’m half expecting a smoke signal or carrier pigeon to get through.
And of course, we can’t forget Riolo Transportation Inc the actual broker that Rational Brands hired., the real MVP of the ghosting Olympics. Located in sunny Encinitas, CA, they’ve perfected the art of ignoring someone. I called. I emailed. I considered skywriting my payment request across the Salt Lake sky. Still nothing. Their full-time job? Pretending I don’t exist.
So here I am: unpaid, baffled, and starring in what is essentially “Freight Gone Wild: South Florida Edition.”
At this point, I’m starting to feel like I’ve been cast in a Netflix cartel drama where everyone knows the script except me. Shipper, broker, receiver, mystery third parties—they’re all chilling somewhere, sipping lattes, laughing as I refresh my inbox for the 97th time today.
Any recommendations for a Salt Lake City lawyer or collection agency who’s brave enough to jump into this freight soap opera? Because my options now are either get my money or sell the movie rights. And trust me, this plot twist deserves a Hollywood budget.
But no. That would’ve been too simple.
Enter South Florida Brokers LLC. Sounds like a respectable finance firm, right? Nope. More like a casting agency for a reality show called “Who Can Ghost Addy Fastest?” (USDOT 3426608, MC-1109092, EIN 85-0869912, Principal: 2303 Stirling Rd, Building 3, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33312. For those who like their comedy with receipts.) Their point person, Alex Altreche, is basically Houdini. Every time I call about payment, he disappears like my will to live after reading 50 “urgent” emails in a row.
Then there’s Junction Craft—which I thought was a hipster brewery, because why not? Stuart Wheldon and Brandon, the masterminds there, orchestrate a plot twist that would make Netflix execs jealous. The load came from a mysterious third party, invisible to the human eye, probably with a license to vanish. And the best part? They “can’t disclose” who deals with Rational Brands. Yeah, because hauling boxes is clearly classified intel.
Speaking of Rational Brands Inc., the “rational” ones… Kerri Kucera replied to one email. One email. Then ghosted me harder than my last online date. Never answered another. Phone calls? Ignored. Texts? Ignored. I’m half expecting a smoke signal or carrier pigeon to get through.
And of course, we can’t forget Riolo Transportation Inc the actual broker that Rational Brands hired., the real MVP of the ghosting Olympics. Located in sunny Encinitas, CA, they’ve perfected the art of ignoring someone. I called. I emailed. I considered skywriting my payment request across the Salt Lake sky. Still nothing. Their full-time job? Pretending I don’t exist.
So here I am: unpaid, baffled, and starring in what is essentially “Freight Gone Wild: South Florida Edition.”
At this point, I’m starting to feel like I’ve been cast in a Netflix cartel drama where everyone knows the script except me. Shipper, broker, receiver, mystery third parties—they’re all chilling somewhere, sipping lattes, laughing as I refresh my inbox for the 97th time today.
Any recommendations for a Salt Lake City lawyer or collection agency who’s brave enough to jump into this freight soap opera? Because my options now are either get my money or sell the movie rights. And trust me, this plot twist deserves a Hollywood budget.
