This was never my dream, (maybe a nightmare.) I didn’t put this vision out into the universe. It came out of nowhere. Never would I have chosen these circumstances or anticipated that life would take these turns, (wide turns I might add.)
But here I was, sitting behind the wheel of a 26 foot rental truck aimed to Minneapolis, possessions in tow and flying solo. Nearly deafened by the roar of the huge diesel engine in front of me I crept out of the rental parking lot in Kansas City where I had been stunned by the size of the huge yellow mass to which I had just obligated myself. Carefully navigating this beast so as not to cause death or harm to those I encountered, I crawled down the unusually narrow street toward my destination. However, this road did not seem so narrow half an hour earlier as I made my way toward the rental site.
Mirrors were everywhere on this beast, except on the visor where you really need one to apply lipstick, which is a necessity for female truckers. Short mirrors, long mirrors, round mirrors, which mirror do I use for what? Why didn’t they explain the mechanics of this mammoth rolling container when I picked it up? Trucking 101 is not on my list of earned college credits.
I arrived at my storage unit safely. My movers filled the void directly behind me with my most prized possessions. Trouble quickly followed. Once I continued my mission, a Jeep Cherokee was in the path I was taking. Personally I thought his right rear bumper, tail-light and rear door looked pretty good but it was in my way.
And then I saw the corner “stop” sign. “Swinging wide” is a term I have embraced in order not to be maimed or mangled. My piloting the gargantuan yellow form which was large and long didn’t make the turn correctly.
Early the next morning I maneuvered my rig through Kansas City. It happened just as rush hour was beginning to impair my ability to safely change lanes. To say the decision to attempt this move back to Minneapolis on my own was a tragic mistake might be a little melodramatic, but right then that’s how it felt.
Once on the Minnesota side of K.C. I began to cry. It was an ugly cry, the kind where your face gets all contorted and malformed. Tears flowed for over an hour and were the result of recollecting every sad thing that had ever happened to me in my entire life. But subsequently I felt cleansed, I knew I could do this and not die. The multiple mirrors and I were bonding and the color of the truck no longer blinded me.
What a site I must have been, a sixty six year old woman wearing a mink coat, sporting designer sun glasses, a large Louis Vuitton bag, driving this boxy piece of metal down the road while simultaneously sobbing.
Sometimes we bite off more than we can handle and the older we get the more we need the voice of reason to intercede. My humble advice to you when you are in over your head is just to keep on truckin’.
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