It’s finally dawned on me. I was meant to be a truck driver, but my college education got in the way.
My recent road trips have put me in close contact with many truckers across the country. Most of them seem pretty darn happy. Why not?
They all know where they’re going. In my lifetime, I rarely did.
Truckers control a powerful machine where they sit way up high and demand respect from other drivers. I spent most of my time in short, cheap rental cars previously driven by smokers and then sprayed with a cover-up of cheap perfume.
Truck drivers have special designated areas at gas stations where they can shower and freshen up. Often, a few primo dining tables have signs that read “Truckers Only.” Even when I try to dress and act like a trucker, I’m too intimidated to cross over these lines of demarcation.
Don’t get me wrong. Overall, I’m happy with the life I’ve led so far. Yet, I just read that the United States needs an additional 160,000 truck drivers. Offers of high salaries and sign-up bonuses are being advertised.
And then there’s Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.”
At 76 and mostly retired, this might be my next interstate not taken.
P.S. Do you think the fact that, after 30 years, I still can’t back up my tiny trailer efficiently at the landfill will be a negating factor to my employment chances?