I live in St. Louis, MO, but my heart and soul hang out at the beach. I am a multi-genre, award winning writer and member of St. Louis Writer's Guild. I am a seasoned pre-k teacher, on line writing instructor, wife, mother, Nana to ten. Hopefully, something I say will make you smile, further your writing career, or inspire you to write from the heart, too.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Some of our best friends and family members are
truck drivers, big rig drivers, OTR drivers. Those trucks scare the daylights
out of me. I know for a fact that truck drivers get as flustered and frustrated
with car drivers as we do with them. I've heard their stories. Now it's time to share mine.
Many years ago, we were going on vacation. One of
the kids had given us a CB receiver. We could receive broadcasts but not respond.
That was fine with me, as we would have had to use a handle ( a call name). We
joked about what we'd call ourselves, but decided anonymity was best. It was
fun to listen in on the truckers' conversations. As we headed toward Florida it
became apparent that most of the drivers disliked other OTR drivers from
Arkansas. My goodness, some of the disparaging remarks were funny and filthy. The chatter increased when a trucker was thrilled with a
female driver. They talked about the "seat covers" like adolescent
We were coming up on a trucker who had his microphone
in hand. Our receiver cackled a wolf whistle.
"Lordy be! Wait till you boys see the two seat covers coming your way.
Sweeeet! Passenger's got a handful; driver, bigger hooters." We passed the truck and
approached a sedan with a family. Nope, it wasn't that car, obviously. We
passed a few more cars, still on the lookout for what this guy considered eye candy.
We noticed other big rig drivers craning their necks,
too. Then we heard a more detailed description: "Any of you boys get a good look at the foreigner wearing the pink shirt?
We looked at each other and laughed hysterically. I
grabbed a pillow and covered my chest. Bill slunk down in the seat of his Toyota, as I straightened the collar on his pink Polo shirt. Red necks didn't take kindly to foreign cars or guys in pink. I think we turned off at the next exit. Can't figure out why my honey put his jacket on.
We still laugh about that, but if you ever mention
it to him, he'll say I have an overactive imagination.