In the Swift truck next to me is a trainee. A very typical young man, rail thin – I’m sure his nickname is “slim” sporting that not quite a moustache that is common in the enlisted ranks of the US Army. He must have just graduated from a trucking school somewhere. He and his trainer have been next to me since around lunchtime yesterday.
I’ve never seen the trainer get out of the truck. The trainee, on the other hand, has been in and out of the numerous times. He seems to always come back with a Subway sandwich meal. About an hour ago, not only did he have another sandwich, but he had purchased three goofy looking stuffed animals. They’re probably for a girl somewhere that is pregnant with his child waiting for him to be released from training. You all know the deal.
Anyway, he must have one of those “fat burning” metabolisms that those diet pill supplement adverts keep telling us we don’t have. That’s why, according to them, we’re all fat. Well as far as I can tell, he doesn’t smoke, eats a 6 inch with chips and a pop every hour and he looks like a toothpick with a bad haircut on top. He’s one of those waist 29 guys with a 34 inseam. I couldn’t get his pants on past my ankles.
I hope “they” leave soon, because he’s starting to annoy me. At least he could bring me back a sub when he goes back inside in about 4 minutes. He also, by the way, never brings anything back for the trainer. So we must conclude that this mysterious “other” person eats, squirts and poops in the truck, using the time his “charge” is briefly absent to take care of business. Maybe he sneaks out the other side and throws out the garbage. But I’ve never seen him do that.
Tonight, if I’m still here, all of us waiting for freight, are going to raid the Pilot and start a bonfire. Even if it is raining. We don’t care. We’re going to snatch all the overpriced crap they sell – those $65 Rand-McNally Maps, the $39 lights and the $29 DVD’s that are not even high-def or Blue Ray. And we’re going to grab all those little rough towels that don’t go around our waists and burn them as well. They’ll be plenty of garbage to add to the flames, because Pilot never collects their darn garbage.
And we’re going to scalp the rude clerk behind the counter. No wait, sorry, we’re NOT going to do that, of course. But the manager? No, not him either. As much as I’d like to. The employees here are so pissed at Pilot they’ll probably add some stuff to the fire and dance around it with us.
I’ll take pictures. If your in the area, come on by and join us. There’s not much parking left. Just hang out in the fuel islands, like some others do. The food is on the trainee in the Swift truck.
The credit for the photo is: picasaweb.google.com/.../8ojGxrjHW-_gOL5S2xEsvw
Note: The author of this post, the other drivers parked at this truck stop, the trucks in the past, present or future that might have stopped, fueled, parked, scaled, or eaten here, the employees at this truck stop, the fine and upstanding citizens of Kannapolis NC or nearby towns do not intend to portray wild drunken Indians preparing for war in a religious or non religious related ceremony that may or may not involve fire or flammables now or in the future. This post was intended only to portray a truck drivers state of mind in these uncertain times of slow freight. It is a fantasy. Chill out and don’t take it seriously. Thank you very much.
