In the world prior to COVID-19, I was sitting in our pickup truck while my husband made a much-needed dump delivery. As he emptied the junk from the bed, the cab swayed back and forth. I tried really hard to breathe through my mouth to avoid that dumpy stench. To pass the time, I thought about how I always feel when I sit in a truck.
Small. Foreign. Extremely not male.
I’ve been in trucks more than a time or two, but not so much as to make myself at home in them. I always feel kind of ill at ease in these behemoths. Climbing into them is a challenge. They’re usually dirty inside and out, and when I’m riding in one, I always seem to be going somewhere I don’t routinely go. A dump. A repo yard. A junkyard. A lumberyard. (Yards, in general, seem to attract trucks, don’t they?)
I’ve bounced down many an unpaved back road in a truck. I’ve hauled things. Moved things. Picked up things. Towed things. Delivered things. Every time I’m in a truck, it seems, I’m about to do something that I don’t find particularly fun. It will be dirty, sweaty, potentially painful and unpleasant, and quite likely long overdue. Either that, or I’m about to go somewhere I couldn’t normally go. Someplace rocky or steep or rugged or muddy.
Trucks often look like they’re about to fall apart, but at the same time they feel like the most reliable things on earth. That’s quite the contradiction. One thing’s for certain, though. I always feel like I’m about to get ‘er done when I’m in a truck.
Yes, indeed. And for some reason my Southern accent tends to come to the surface. I start to use words like “chores”. I start droppin’ my g’s.
I’m always ever-so-grateful to have use of a truck, because whatever it is I’m doing could not be done without one. And I know I’m utterly dependent upon the good will of its owner. That can sometimes be awkward. I’m sure truck owners get rather sick of being asked for favors.
No one has ever loaned me their truck. I’ve been told more than once that I wouldn’t be able to drive a truck or start a truck or stop a truck. I’ve always found that supremely insulting, and sexist, but I’m also secretly relieved, because I really don’t want to be bothered. I can’t imagine putting myself in one of those smelly, noisy, rattling things if I didn’t have to.
Love them or hate them, though, trucks sure can come in handy. That, and they always make me want to take a shower after interacting with them. Most cars don’t do that. So there you have it. Trucks promote hygiene.
Check out my refreshingly positive book for these depressingly negative times. http://amzn.to/2mlPVh5
The View from a Drawbridge 
The sooner all gender nonsense can get stomped into the ground–or run over with a biiiiiiiig truck–the happier I will be. Hygiene? Good point. It is like how I know salami is good for me–it always makes me floss my teeth.
Oooh, an excuse for salami! Thank you!