Let’s talk about CB etiquette, come on.
It has been my aspiration to be able to converse with the fluidity of an old pro on the CB, using the lingo and following along with the alerts and happenings going on just ahead of us. Unfortunately, I sound like a complete idiot on the CB, and even if I could converse with fluidity, there are too many people out there using channel 19 as their own personal platform for assiness to get a word in edgewise.
George still keeps his CB on all the time. However, he has to keep it turned down so much we rarely get an opportunity to hear anything about what’s going on ahead before we’re in the middle of it. Apparently, there are grown men (and the occasional woman) who think it’s effing hilarious to get on and do things like make fart noises. Once or twice is OK. I understand boredom and I really do think fart noises are pretty funny – when they’re not repeated over and over again by someone using a radio they could easily contact Jesus Christ himself with. What the hell is the point of sinking thousands of dollars into a radio for the sole purpose of making a continuous, never-ending fart noise? STOP IT. You’re mentally ill. Get some help, for heaven’s sake.
Coconino County, Arizona, has put a ban in place on any and all handheld devices, including CBs (unless, according to the language of the ordinance, you are reporting an emergency to authorities). We all know safety has absolutely nothing to do with the ordinance including CBs. Using a CB is as involved as using a headset – it’s a one-click deal, and we’re banning things that are “distracting” we should probably take the laptops out of Sheriff’s deputies’ vehicles, because I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve looked down and seen a cop using a laptop while driving. They included CBs in their little ordinance because truckers can communicate where they’re hiding and whether or not scales are open – when there’s not some dipwad hogging the wire to talk about their cat or how much they hate Obama.
We listened to a guy give an extremely detailed description of how he lost his cat and spent days trying to find it. I still don’t know who he was talking to, but I do know that he has a Maine Coon and he walked around the periphery of his property shaking a cat food box for two days looking for it. This small tidbit of information took him 45 minutes to describe, and by the time George got sick of it and turned the thing off, I had resolved to find this person and strangle him and the cat with the mic cord to put them both out of their misery. I know why your cat ran away, guy, it’s because it takes you nine hours to tell a two-sentence story. SHUT UP.
Communication is great when you’re out there alone – it’s awesome to hear another human voice (when they’re not screaming about someone being a child molester from Virginia – anyone who has been in the North Georgia area has heard this rabid freak; he does what he wants to do because he can; this is his favorite statement and when I finally find him and take my ball peen hammer to his kneecaps and anything else in the general vicinity of his kneecaps, I will repeat that phrase over and over again, just like he does when people tell him to shut the you-know-what up).
Here’s the deal: talk all you want. Spout all the hate you want. Talk about your cat or your toenails or your mother’s underwear, but take it to another channel. Channel 19 is not your own personal radio station. There are 39 other channels you can befoul with your miseries. Use them.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be over here looking for a way to find the jerkwad from California who has “fire in his wire” and is using a bazillion watt station to walk all over every trucker he can hear out there.