Thursday, May 20, 2010

Trucks Rule

Trucks rule the road.
Trucks own the road.
Trucks bully the road.

I don’t know about you, but trucks scare the pants off me when they come barreling down my bumper ass. I might have junk in my trunk…but I want to keep it there and not have it run over. When I can identify the different variety of insects stuck to the front of the truck’s grill, through my rearview window…I know I’m in trouble.

Last time I was driving on the Mass Pike…I was caught in a duel with a furniture company truck from North Carolina. The trucker was flying up behind me in the passing lane…so I quickly moved over to let him pass. Ironically, the sticker on the back of his truck read: “How’s my driving? Compliments/Concerns…” I pulled closer to read the phone number…but the number was covered over with a strip of duct tape. Obviously, the truck driver had something to hide.


I actually have had a secret desire to own a trucking company. It started about 15 years ago. I wanted to own a fleet of trucks…pink trucks and hire women drivers. Think Pink. They would not be required to wear pink, but they would have to regularly launder their clothing and smell good.

I would be the Truck Boss of the Pink Truck Union…a kinder sweeter union…like a marriage union, but no one has to empty the dishwasher. I would take care of my Pink Truckers…make sure they weren’t over-worked, under-paid, and mildly sarcastic.

There would be no barreling down on the asses of cars…especially the cars of little ole ladies clutching the wheel and barely seeing over the dashboard. They would be required to obey the speed limits and take frequent breaks. We would award a Pink Truck Employee of the Month…and the recipient would win a free spa treatment…and a pink drink.

There would, however, be a couple of requirements. Every woman trucker would be required to have a “handle”…and would be required to talk in trucker jargon. (KatOUT is my name…and handles are my game.)

Oh, and I would require them to wear trucker hats…they are so cute, in a rednecky way.

I’ll catch you on the flip flop, Big Buddy. Watch out for Smokey camping out at the 54 mile marker.

Over and……katOUT

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