The Little (Big) Problems of a Trucker
April 15th, 2006
We’ve all got our jobs.
And in each of those jobs we’ve got small annoyances that turn out to be the big hunkering issues of our day to day lives. From the paper-jammed copy machine near the Coke machine to the paper cuts we get from stuffing envelopes (that prevent us from bowling a perfect game) to the caked-on dirt that covers our fingers from all that change we handle at the tollbooth and which leaves our fingerprints anywhere and everywhere.
But the trucker? Doh, this person’s got it the worst.
It takes a certain solitary person to want to be a trucker. There’s days upon days where they’re just driving alone, across long stretches of highway, stopping at truck stops for food and checking in with their family when they can. They’re loading the trucks, weighing the trucks, delivering the goods and repeating such a thing over and over again as the weeks pile on.
And then…there’s the “can you see me over here, Mr. Trucker, in the car next to you…jerking my hand in mid-air in an attempt to get you to honk your horn” people.
If I were a trucker, those first few weeks would feel like a power trip. Everytime I’d pass by a bus filled with kids, all jerking their hands in mid-air, I would gladly pull on that chain in the main cab of my monster and let out the most menacing gutteral honk they had ever heard. I would laugh at the joy it would bring to college students baring their butts out the window, at children in school buses, and kids strapped into the cargo section of the back of Volvos — desperately hoping for something to break up the monotony of a cross-country trip.
Oh, I would be the king of the world…for a few weeks.
And then I’d start to feel a little bit used. When I’d celebrate holidays with my family, the young kids would always ask me to take them out to the truck and let them honk the horn. On the road, people would be less concerned with the truck I had so lovingly restored — and more concerned with getting me to honk the horn for them.
“What am I? A honking clown?” I’d ask. “Like, do I amuse you — honking this horn while you’re driving next to me? Is my sole purpose as a trucker to make you giddy by yanking the physical chain of my boisterous horn for all the world to see?”
My psychologist would probably tell me that I just needed to remember that everyone loved the sound of a horn. That it was more like music. That by fulfilling the dreams of bored motorists everywhere — that I would be doing my part to make the world a better place. That I wasn’t being used, per se. I was using what I possessed to inspire, entertain and amuse.
I wouldn’t believe that psychologist for a second.
Because what once started as a solitary job had now become something much more annoying. What once was amusing and fun — I mean, watching those kids faces light up as I honked my horn was initally a wonderful thing, was now a tired, boring, cliche moment that was happening every five miles on the Interstate. The first questions people would ask me at weddings when they found out I was a trucker would be, “Oh hey - do you have a cool horn?” Not “what kind of cargo do you carry” or “what’s the top speed of your rig” or “what’s your favorite stretch of land” or “can you transport a palette of hard-boiled eggs and bacon for me to the Annual Hard-Boiled Egg & Bacon Festival in Ashland, Oregon?”
No, it would just all be about the horn.
And that little problem would become the biggest reason for me quitting my job when all was said and done. I’d probably even take the horn out of my car and the doorbell off the front of the house and get rid of the dinner bell, the sound on the TV (when Family Feud was on) and remove that jingling neck dangle from around my dog’s neck.
Yup. That’s what I’d have to do. “Thanks, you honk obsessed public,” I’d say. “Thanks a whole damn lot.” And yes, I’d say “damn” alot, also. Cause you know, it’s what truckers do.
That is, in addition to honking the damn horn.
Oh no… my 9 year old son is one of those “can you see me over here, Mr. Trucker, in the car next to you…jerking my hand in mid-air in an attempt to get you to honk your horn” people. I never know he’s doing it until it’s too late.
Comment by Sara J. — April 15, 2006 @ 6:13 am
I would always sound my barbaric “Trucker” yalwp…if i happened to be a trucker. Its all part of the truckers creed, that and peeing into plastic milk jugs while driving, but we won’t get into that.
Comment by H.F. Peterman — April 15, 2006 @ 6:34 am
H.F. - Yeah, as a trucker, I wouldn’t talk about the whole plastic milk jug thing.
Comment by Pauly D — April 15, 2006 @ 6:53 am
substitute “trucker” for “funny guy” and “honking the horn” for “saying something funny”, and “solitary” for “funny” and “cargo” for “serious stuff i’ve written” and “damn” for “goddamn”, and i think this is really a rant about your frustrations with people using you as town jester.
i just hope it doesn’t mean you’re quitting soon.
Comment by dgm — April 15, 2006 @ 7:35 am
You are soo right on. My brother-in-law was a trucker for 20+ years and he still gets a little crazy when he sees kids doing the “honk” gesture ..
Comment by mamakraft — April 15, 2006 @ 9:40 am
You wouldn’t have to honk your horn for me. As long as you don’t run me off the road, I’m a happy camper.
Comment by Rabbit — April 15, 2006 @ 9:42 am
Really? The horn honking would be your biggest reason? Not the ridiculously greasy, fattening truckstop food? Being away from the family? All the “problems” that occur from sitting down for 12 hours at a stretch?
Comment by susan — April 15, 2006 @ 10:46 am
Susan - Nope. Just all those people asking me to honk my horn, which would ironically give me some kind of painful shoulder joint ailment.
Comment by Pauly D — April 15, 2006 @ 10:49 am
I should say truckers get bored. There isn’t quite an experience to top a trucker, apparently bored stiff, motioning for you to pull over.
Ha! Think again! Do you really think, that just because you have an awesome horn, I’m going to pull over and have that kitchy small talk that leads up to my phone number? You think you’re all big, up there in that diesel high-rise and that I would love you as I love Billie Joe?
It will not happen buddy. It will not happen.
But could you blow your damn horn, before I leave you in the dust.
Comment by Janet — April 15, 2006 @ 1:44 pm
*Humming “Convoy”*
Comment by LisaBinDaCity — April 16, 2006 @ 6:30 am
Note to self… remember not to sip coffee while reading Pauly D’s blog, because of flying coffee due to the unexpected moments of laughing! LOL.
Comment by Thoughtsgalore — April 16, 2006 @ 6:46 am
I agree with you that the little horn-honk-whoring public problem would soon become a much bigger problem. But I think it is only the beginning of the trucker’s problems.
There’s the white trash truckstop waitresses with their greasy (pronounced greazy) food, that can only worsen your growing obesity problem.
There’s the roadside hookers and their STD cocktails, who you can’t help but succumb to on accounta your incredible lonliness.
And there’s the fact that you will inevitably become a serial killer or kidnapper or rapist. I’ve seen the movies. Don’t try to deny it.
Comment by Nicole — April 18, 2006 @ 7:03 pm
Interesting blog, kid. I’m getting a real laugh from all of these ‘experts’ that think they have a clue about driving. Especially the women… like they think they’re what it’s all about. No… not likely, darlings. It’s about work, and lot’s of it. There’s no romance in this shit, despite what Hollywood says.
I haven’t got time for hookers or lonely, horny housewives baring their ’souls’ from suv’s travelling twice the posted speed limit. (I do often catch up to them down the road, wheels-up in the weeds — word to Miss dust-off!)) Nor do I have time for kids trapped in their parent’s nightmare vacation schemes, wanting a cheap thrill out of a blast of compressed air. I don’t even wave at other drivers; I’ve got deadlines and appointments, and if my ass isn’t there on time, someone else gets to bed quicker than me that night.
I don’t care enough about humanity to become a serial killer, and I wouldn’t engage the little twits that spouted off here in serious conversation, let alone force myself on them! They, on the other hand, couldn’t live without their consumer products for very long if all of us “perverts” and “serial killers” decided to get parts in soap operas, or some other equally wasteful occupation.
So… tend to your nails and hair, ladies, and let me work so you don’t have to.
Comment by "Al" — July 21, 2006 @ 8:19 pm