Howdy, howdy. Gabby Graywhiskers here. As some of y’all know, I’m a retired freight facilitator. Yeah, OK, just call me a truck jockey. But, not just any run of the mill driver, nosireeBob. Me and my buddy Jim trucked for the United States of friggin America. Hell yes, it was fun. But it was long, stress-filled hours rolling down the interstates hauling high security freight and explosives. From bombs to missiles to grenades, our freight kept us within a hoot and a holler from St Peter’s Pearly Gates. A few of our fellow munitions haulers never delivered their loads as planned and got their butts blown to smithereens because of carelessness or just plain ole bad luck. YessireeBob, me and good ole Jim did that for about 13 years.
We always had the best looking rig on the highway. Our first was a ’94 Peterbilt double bunk with all the bells and whistles. Chrome, chrome, chrome everywhere and enough chicken lights (accessory and running lights) to make us visible on the other side of the state. Well, Gabby might be exaggerating just a bit, but that truck was a beauty. But, it was too crowded inside for two drivers and a cat who lived in it 4 to 6 weeks at a time.
Got us a red Freightliner with a 70″ double bunk sleeper and it too was decked out with chrome and lights. More space meant more stuff. More stuff meant more weight and we were a rolling house on wheels scaling out at 18000 pounds bobtail. But, that was OK since most of our government freight was under 30,000 pounds. Seldom did our entire loaded rig scale out near the 80000 pound limit.
Our 3rd truck was a screaming midnight-blue yacht powered with a Detroit 500, chicken lights up the yazoo, an 84″ sleeper, a kitchen with a refrigerator and microwave, and a table for dining This was the largest sleeper space available without going custom. YessireeBob, this truck was the cat’s ass. Shoot, we stayed at some of the most exciting campgrounds (truckstops) and got paid for seeing the USA and almost all the country’s military installations.
Them there military boys is pretty slick. At the sentry gate we always were addressed by “Sir, please” and “sir, thank you.” YessireeBob, we was respected. Sometimes they would do just a sight and sniff truck inspection. Other times it was a full truck search. One good ole Army boy decided to be Billy Badass and instructed us to open all truck compartments inside and outside and proceeded to do his search. When he got to the under bunk compartment that had an outside door, he asked us to open that door.
“Sgt. Osborn,” I advised, “the cat’s litter box is in that compartment.”
Undeterred, he stuck his flashlight and his nose full throttle into the box. Pulling nose and flashlight back out he grumbled words unbecoming to a military professional and went about his business.
Folks, Gabby ain’t one to relish a soldier’s misfortune, but the look on his face with cat litter hanging off his nose was worth a Medal. Just a few hours earlier the cat, Rocky, had ice cream with his supper. Tuna and ice cream. Deadly combination. Stinks for days. Not just your ordinary cat poop. NosireeBob. It was an award-winning pile of feces from hell.
But, folks, the kicker was that Sgt. Osborn proceeded with his search as if nothing had happened. God bless our men in uniform.
Stop by the house someday. We can sit on the porch with a bowl of ice cream and talk some truckers’ trash.