Those annoying truck stop peacocks
We’ve been sleeping at truck stops this trip. Mostly because it’s been convenient and there are showers, but also because even in the wide open spaces of the Dakotas, no one wants to let a trucker park to sleep. Assfaces. A pox on them and their ugly children.
Pulling into a crowded truck stop after dark is exactly the same thing as walking into a bar. You can immediately spot the girls who took three hours to get ready, they have every conceivable inch of their truck covered in chrome and twinkle lights, and usually have at least one sticker that tells you how bad ass they are. These are the people who wouldn’t hesitate to walk into a drinking establishment in a hot pink cowboy hat and matching leg warmers with one hand on their crotch and the other gesturing for the first person they see to look at their crotch. We park as far away from these peacocks (cock being the operative word) as we can.
As you cruise the lanes looking for a place to park (a seat at the bar) you see the family guys in their company leased trucks, quietly doing paperwork (having a beer) and watching the clock. They usually have their kids names stenciled on the door under the driver’s side window (wearing a wedding band).
As the evening progresses, you begin to see the assbags (frat boys) who feel the rules don’t pertain to them. These douchebags will screech into the lot (doing Jager bombs) and forgo looking for an empty spot to park in any area clearly marked NO PARKING (hitting on married chicks). These are the people you have to go looking for because they’ve blocked something important, like the exit or a fuel lane, and gone inside to play electronic slots. These are the people who spread unwanted disease (stupidity, the clap) around the United States and give truckers in general a bad name.
“Did that guy just park his truck in front of the exit and leave it?”
“Yeah, they do that all the time.”
“What the hell? He doesn’t even have to be able to read to know it’s a no parking zone. There’s even a picture of a truck with a big red slash through it. What a dick.”
“They’ll make him move it when enough people go in there to complain.”
“If they can find him. He’s probably in the bathroom looking at a baby farm animal calendar.”
“Wow, babe. Angry much?”
“I hate asshats. Mayhem follows people who don’t think the rules apply to them. I’m going to write ‘Lord of the Dicks’ in the dirt on his trailer.”
“Babe, everyone knows he’s a dick without doing that.”
“Well now they can be sure.”