Monday, November 7th, 2011
Isolated in tiny steel universes, truckers tend to be separate from the main stream culture. For information on the outside world, truckers will often rely on such stalwart temples of truth as Fox News and talk radio. Oh yeah, we know what's going on. Consequently, I've found that truckers tend to take on the idiosyncrasies of their own inputs and whatever they surround themselves with; therefore truckers can spin tales that are full of half truths, exaggerations and good old fashioned bullshit.
Today was not particularly eventful, barring an extreme workout from raising the trailer off my drive tires, so I will take this opportunity to regail you with some stories I've heard in the past. Told to me and anybody close enough to listen and bum a smoke from. I'll set the scene: it is a sunny day, I believe in a company yard at Manteno, IL. Heck, it could have been Denver, but they all start looking the same to me after a while, doors obscured by thin grey-blue smoke after all. Jen and I were walking out to our truck and happened in on this story, with names changed to protect my own ass.
“Yeah, I was a trainer for [Rocket Trucking]. It paid pretty good so long as you had the student's second log book. Lemme tell you about this one guy I trained. Now, see I've been doing this for some years, and I've been all over the place. This kid was from West Virginia. I don't know if you've traveled West Virginia much at all, but he was from this little town called [ E.B.F. ] “
The other driver happened to chime in, “Yeah actually, I have cousins just the town north of there on that same road! Small little place, one stop light in the middle of town, place has gone to hell with all the meth; 'specially after all the mining companies pulled out.”
“Yeah, well, he was looking to get out, hadn't ever been anywhere outside of there. Real naïve kind of kid. Well, after some time we finally got a dispatch to New York City.” (as an aside, most good stories involve going to New York, since every person who drives truck hates how narrow the streets are, the insane traffic, and the tolls going in and out of there. Being so crowded makes for a more harrowing story). "This kid was so naïve, let me tell you! Now, since I was training, I was in the bunk taking my rest, and the kid was driving to our consignee. I told him, we're going through a rough part of town, so don't you stop for nothin' but red lights. Even then, try not to stop. So what does he do? He pulls right up to a red light. So I get myself up and see what he's doin' when this little Puerto Rican girl comes walking along. Now this girl is hot. Smokin' hot! Tight shirt on, little mini skirt and all that. Then all of a sudden she lifts up her shirt and climbs up the steps to the driver's side door. Her titties are all smooshed against the window, and that boy's tongue is hangin' out like you wouldn't believe. Lucky for me though, I happened to look in the drivers side mirror and saw this guy walking around the back of the trailer with a pair of bolt cutters. I smacked the kid on the head and said, 'Drive dammit. I don't care if the light hasn't changed. There aren't any cars coming, so drive!' So he snaps to and puts it in gear and away we go. She jumps off the running board cursing and cussin', then the guy whips out a pistol and starts shootin' at the truck! I mean, man, these people. I hate New York.”
No such story today for me, but as you may have guessed, a lot of truckers' stories tend to be slightly embellished tall tales, which mutate upon the telling. There is always the urban legend, again about NYC, involving a truck that cannot make a turn. I'll save that tale for another time, just to make mention that I kept running into that same guy form yesterday with the loud opinions. I wonder what the Universe is trying to tell me?
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