When I was 19, I took my Dad’s truck, (“Heavy F250”, The stock F250 with the springs and shocks from an F350 under it. Dealers in Utah used to special order them, so the farmers could buy them, and get the license as a 3/4 ton, to save on taxes, and load them as a one ton.), to the gravel pit to get sand to make mortar for a new block wall with.
I pay for the yard minimum, and drive down into the pit, and hand my slip to the guy on the loader, get down as he feathers it in until I cut him off with about an inch before the rubber rebound bumpers make contact. About the time we get done, a guy drives in with a Datsun pickup.
He hands his slip to the loader operator, who had about a half scoop left in the bucket, so he rolled over the Datsun and started to feather in the sand. The Datsun is really squatting, so he quits loading him. Driver of the Datsun goes ape, swearing at him, calling him names, and saying he paid for a yard, and by God he wants a yard. Operator dumps what is left in the bucket in his truck. Which snaps both axles. And, the operator just drove off.
I stopped at the scale house and told them the guy in the Datsun deserved it. I was down about two weeks later, and the operator was still in the loader.