George got a new CB at the truck show, and now we can talk to (and listen for) broadcasts from Jupiter and beyond. My downtime has been consumed with watching many episodes of Star Trek, so I can brush up on my Klingon and practice Vulcan mind melding with the cats, just in case we actually do break on through to the other side. You can never be too prepared, and cats are horrifying mind meld subjects. FYI.
Besides making the inside of the truck look like a disco when it’s dark, the new CB brings joys from afar, in the form of “Candy Cane” in East Point, Ga., the “Nannernannerpuddin Lady” in Tennessee, and the guy in Memphis who goes by a hundred names but is always trying to buy or sell pot on the radio. Everyone refers to him as “Officer.” I scare myself sometimes, being able to tell what part of the country we’re in by the chatter on the CB. When I wake up and hear “Dy-no-mite! Lookin’ for a light!” I automatically know we’re in Memphis. I should take prophylactic antibiotics and arm myself heavily before leaving the truck.
I heard a new one the last time we were traveling through Georgia. Seems if you roll into a certain establishment at the 201 and show your CDL, the first beer is free! Well why the hell not? You’re tired, it’s dark, you’re wrestling 80K pounds around the Watermelon 500 in a few miles, a beer seems like a great idea! Hey, got a toothache? Have a shot of morphine and hit that nitrous tank a couple of times for the road! Awesome!
I think the places selling gasoline, fireworks and liquor are probably the scariest to me. I’m not necessarily thinking about the truckers who roll through, I’m considering the ramifications such an establishment would have on the town it resides in. Seriously, one misplaced cigarette butt and half the city goes kablooey. There’s a place like this beside the Chrome Shop Mafia in Missouri, and we always have to stop there because you can get a carton of smokes for about nine dollars. Of course, you risk life and limb in doing so, but it’s a good deal and hubs can’t ever pass it up. There’s a popcorn machine right inside the front door, and last time we were there it started cooking and nearly sent me to the floor in the fetal position, because I thought we were about to kablammo all over the place. Probably not the best idea in the world to have something that makes random “pop pop” sounds in a warehouse crammed full of Black Cats and Everclear. Really.