So I’ve been thinking really hard about getting my CDL. Don’t worry — I’ll alert you if and when I ever actually do.
I really don’t want to drive for a living. I don’t have the patience or the ability to concentrate on what I’m doing for long enough to accomplish a full day of driving. That’s one of the reasons I was good at nursing – things cracked along at a brisk pace every minute of the shift and I was constantly running. A night-shift nurse in an Ohio nursing home can legally have as many as 50 residents she’s responsible for. I’d like to challenge you to do a medication pass for 50 people who each take an average of seven medications and complete it in a two-hour time frame while not moving along at a brisk pace. Let’s just say I never had a problem controlling my weight when I was a floor nurse.
I want my CDL in case of emergencies. George had a gall-bladder attack on the way to MATS and I honestly thought he wasn’t going to make it to Louisville. We pulled into a truck stop 50 miles after leaving the house and he spent several hours being completely miserable in the bunk while I wondered if I was going to have to call a cab to get him to the hospital. That’s when I started wishing I had a CDL and knew how to drive the truck, so I could at least get it back home if I had to. If George goes down with an illness or injury, we’re stuck like Chuck. I know eventually Bob or Dennis or Randy or Liam would come get us, but those guys all work like crazy and they’d lose money doing it. Nope. That wouldn’t do. I need to know myself.
George has encouraged me to get my license for a long time. I’m the one who’s chicken. I really don’t know if I could handle the truck on some of the highways we traveled this time. The winter of death took its toll on the asphalt. Of course, the fact that a great majority of the interstate system was built when my Grandad was my age, and most of it has had nothing but cosmetic overlay since then, contributes hugely to the bombed-out pit of hell we call highways in the vast majority of America. I swear to you, I lost consciousness three times from blunt spinal trauma while riding through Illinois last week. We actually fell into a massive black hole somewhere around Effingham, and made a tear in the space-time continuum, but reversed it all when we came back through a cavern on the other side of Vandalia. (This may or may not be a filthy lie. I blame not being certain on the brain injury I suffered during “Pennsylvania Helmet Tour 2014,” when I lost three teeth and full function of my bladder in an airplane hangar-sized pothole right outside of Wilkes Barre.)
So anyway, I’m still debating the possibilities. It’s an expensive undertaking, but it will round out my list of licenses and certifications nicely. I started my collection with a Manicurist license, went on to get a Certified Nursing Assistant license, and parlayed that into a Licensed Practical Nursing certification. In between all my paper jobs, I waited tables and tended bar, so I think I can probably learn to drive a truck. Drunk wrangling can’t be that far away from watching out for texting idiots on the highway, can it? Of course, I never had to wrangle a drunk that weighed 40,000 pounds, so yeah, I’m still thinking about it. In the meantime, I can legally and on true paper give you a manicure, wipe your ass, give you a shot in your ass, serve you a sandwich and make you a mean margarita. Who says vocational education isn’t the best?