Thursday, September 18, 2008
The genius of the lone trucker
About ten years ago, when McKay was a baby, we were living in Minneapolis while the Husband finished up grad school.
We grew to love Minnesota, in spite of the fact that there are only about eight days a year where you can go outside. And in spite of the fact that they willingly elected Jessie "the Body" for their governor (blame the Husband. I'm pretty sure he voted for him).
Slowly, over time, we even began to understand what the natives were saying when they asked us if we "wanted a baig for that" at the grocery store.
But one the funniest experiences of my life came while we were living there. I was running some errands downtown, and had baby McKay, buckled in his car seat, in the back of the car.
I pulled up to a stoplight, and movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Next to me at the light, was a big 18-wheeler truck, driven by a man who looked a little something like this:
Only not quite so handsome.
He was frantically waving at me, so I smiled, nodded my head, and turned toward the light, hoping that the light would soon turn green.
In spite of my attempt to ignore him, he was practically jumping up and down in his seat. I looked over once again, praying that my life was not about to end at the hands of this apparently-crazy trucker.
He was motioning for me to roll down my window, which I did, in spite of the mental security that thin little piece of glass afforded me.
He smiled, revealing several missing teeth, and said: "Hey lady, you always know where you're going, and he always knows where you've been!"
I nodded politely, smiled, and sped off just as the light turned green, hoping to be spared from any more trucker wisdom which made absolutely no sense at all. Shaking my head and laughing, I started thinking about what he had said.
And by the next block, it hit me. He was referring to McKay in the rear-facing car seat, knowing where we've been. And me, facing forward, knowing where we're going.
Probably the most clever thing I've ever heard from a tattooed, toothless trucker in my life.
I only wish I could find him so I could tell him that I got it.
If you see him, be sure to tell him for me, good one, buddy. Good one.