Five reasons to hate talking to other drivers
Well our brand new truck still isn’t fixed so we were standing around outside today while it was in the shop. This ended up with us talking to other TWMNBN drivers and as usual that was a mistake. I guess it’s probably not true about all truck drivers, but many of us do not play well with others. Also, it seems as if truckers are the most gossiping group of people this side of Edna Mae’s Beauty Barn on “Buy two hair colors get the bikini wax thing thrown in for free” Fridays.
So what with the (polite) arguing about politics, the outright misinformation about our own job, and the general half-wittedness of the day I have several good reasons to once again vow to never shoot the crap with truckers again… and one excellent reason to do it all over again tomorrow.
Reasons to never talk to truckers again:
>> Old boy who informed me that the economy is in such bad shape because Obama won the election. He insists that the really big companies are now scared of Obama and are moving overseas. My clever line of logical reasoning which was chiefly based on the fact that the economy has been in deep crap for a long time and was crashing all over the place before Obama was elected moved him not at all. Hard to have a civil conversation with someone when they think the President-elect actually wants them to work for free and send their whole paycheck to the Mexicans. I’m not sure exactly how the Mexicans fit into the whole nightmare situation… or why Obama wants us to send them our paychecks… or if I should send mine to a specific Mexican family or just general delivery to any post office in Mexico. Numb-nuts!
>> Next was the fellow who spent 20 minutes explaining to us how teams at TWMNBN are paid. Even though we had already told him we drive team. We drive team for TWMNBN… don’t you think we know how we are paid? Ugh. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
>> Then we had Mr. I-Know-All-The-Company-Dirt who told us a bunch of really shocking things about TWMNBN and the current situation. It was all a little overwhelming until — as the conversation went on — you realized he was just another driver who didn’t know any more crap than we did. Oh he had heard things… he had heard the hell out of lots of things… but he didn’t KNOW anything to speak of. Don’t get me wrong the things he was saying were shocking. And if they are true they point to an economy in even worse shape than I had imagined… but as it is it’s just a big old pile of unconfirmable crap. Which I find maddening because enquiring minds want to know, damn it.
>> Then we had Mr. I’ll-Tell-You-How-It-Is cause you’re just two innocent babes in the wilderness. This was the guy who told us he was waiting on the results of the testing to get his medical certification back. He informed us that he had just had a “sleep apathy” test which the doctor required because he was overweight. Then he proceeded to tell us that starting January first you won’t be able to get a medical card if your body mass index is over 25. Now… as someone who’s BMI is probably 94.2 this news was quite alarming to me. There we were out there at the picnic tables with no internet available to research this bit of news and being told that we won’t have a job in May when our medical comes up for renewal.
>> I did later get online and I couldn’t find anything except if you’re overweight you will have to have the sleep apnea test to get your medical card. I could have missed something but you would think the parking of every trucker who’s BMI is over 25 would be pretty big news. I mean if people thought Y2K had the potential to make a big impact on our society… this would be HUGE. Truckers aren’t generally known as a delicate or dainty group as a whole. Then that got me to thinking about all the fat people out there in society in general and how nobody gives a crap if they all have sleep apnea on the highways. Then that got me off on how truckers are treated like crap and regulated to within an inch of our lives and in ways that no other profession in America has to deal with. I mean a surgeon can pull 34 hours of ER duty and go into surgery, screw something up, kill the patient, say “I’m terribly sorry about your loss, ma’am”, and go home to watch Monday Night Football with the boys. But a trucker who has driven 11 hours and twenty-three minutes immediately after sleeping for nine hours can be sitting still at a stop sign, get rear-ended by a bunch of speeding drunken teen-aged boys and that trucker is likely going to prison or at the very least he’s losing everything he has in the civil suits that will follow. See it’s best to just not start this train of thought cause it always builds up a head of steam as it barrels down the tracks…
Anyway, that was our day filled with reason after reason to avoid talking to our fellow drivers. But then that one shining ray of light… that one bright example of why one should interact with one’s fellow man came along and made it all worth while. He redeemed the whole day.
Why you should talk to your fellow drivers:
Maggie was having a good old time being petted by one stranger after another. Maggie truly loves people. She sees a guy across a parking lot and her tail starts wagging as she watches him closely hoping he’s coming over to the truck to pet her.
Unfortunately, because we don’t have any access to other dogs, Maggie is unsure of herself when it comes to them. It’s obvious they kinda scare her, so she doesn’t seem to act however one is supposed to act in doggie etiquette which generally seems to annoy the other dog. She does act all submissive and stuff with most dogs, but she still seems to bring out the worst in them. Completely our fault as she just hasn’t had enough experience with them and I don’t know how to fix it now. So usually I just try to keep her kinda at a distance from strange dogs.
So this guy walked up today with his Beagle on a long leash. The dog seemed ok, but the man seemed seriously sort of… shall we be polite… and say… slow. Yeah. He seemed sort of slow. So he walked up pretty close to the table and as he got closer his dog was able to get to Maggie. She went into her dropped down submissive thing she does and his dog started to growl at Maggie.
He said to his dog, “Don’t growl at her, Rocky, she’s a pure-bred, too. We don’t growl at other pure-bred dogs.” Then he picked his dog up and waved him around in the air showing us the spots on his Beagle’s belly and telling us that is how you know if a Beagle is a pure-bred dog. He was just blathering on and on about how important it is to have a pure-bred dog while waving his dog around and pointing him first at Stace then at Me then at Maggie so we could all three confirm that his dog did indeed have the tell-tale pure-bred spots on the belly. I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to ohhh and awww over the stupid spots on his dog’s belly or not, but I didn’t figure it mattered much to the poor dog. All four of Rocky’s little legs were just flailing around churning in the wind.
Eventually the guy wandered off still muttering about dog heritage and such. Stace and I looked at each other and both said at the same time, “OMG!! A dog racist!!” Well we both thought that he was pretty funny and were thankful he had happened by to brighten our day. But wait… he came back.
He wanders back over to us determined to get the obviously superior dogs to play together or possibly to get them to join together in some mad plot to take over Dallas and run all the mixed-breed dogs out of Texas or possibly just to let them spend a little time quietly talking together about how excellent it was to have belly-spots… I don’t know.
Anyway, Maggie wasn’t having any of it as Rocky had already growled at her a few times the last time he was near her. And Stace wasn’t having any of it, either. So — right in the middle of dog-racist-half-wit’s attempt to force contact between the canine royalty — Stace took Maggie’s leash and started walking off with her to keep Maggie out of harm’s way. Mr. Man was so put out with Stace’s interference on Maggie’s behalf that he said quite loudly and completely out of the blue, “Oh yeah? Well… <sputtering> …your dog sucks!”
Oh. My. God. We laughed so hard. He was really pissed, too. He scooped poor Rocky up again and marched off toward his truck and we didn’t see them again all afternoon. I think the Royal Feelings must have been hurt or maybe he just felt all their pure-blooded goodness was wasted on three obvious low-life heathens like us. I guess we simply weren’t superior enough to hang out with him and Rocky… belly-spots or no belly-spots.