Anybody got a copy on the dinosaurs, come on?

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“I wish all you dinosaurs would just retire and let us drive.”

This statement is also know as, “How not to make friends on the road.”

Being confident is a good thing. Having pride in your job is great. Telling veterans of the road who have seats in their truck older than you they need to retire isn’t cool. Especially when you’re driving a brand-new, wipe-your-snotty-nose truck with an automatic transmission, automatic braking, automatic etc. Those dinosaurs lived through some hairy stuff, drove some hard miles and laid a path for you to have the luxury of a Cadillac-cab. Have a little respect, and keep your mouth shut about your wishes unless they’re to wish another driver a safe ride.

Support your local dinosaur.Support your local dinosaur.

We keep the CB on all the time — George always has — but especially now that he’s doing oversize, the CB is a valuable tool he can’t do without. Every single day we hear smartass comments that are completely unnecessary and generally cause a plethora of other smartass comments that make everyone in range grumpy. It’s stupid, and if you were in pre-school, you’d have your CB taken away for it and be put in time-out.

Sometimes, being the one and only person who will break with something positive can change the entire mood from grumpy bugs to brothers and sisters of the road, and I challenge each of you to be that person.

Here’s a perfect example:

Nashville, Friday morning traffic. No one is happy, and it’s raining, which makes it certain that at least one four-wheeler will scare themselves silly and wreck in some enormous fashion that closes at least three lanes on both sides. Lots of grousing on the CB.

“The middle lane wasn’t built for you and you alone, Werner.”

“Come around me, drivah, I ain’t moving for you.”

This quickly evolved into an argument over middle-lane rights and people’s mothers. It just goes so sideways sometimes. One minute you’re a lane hog, the next minute you’re a bleeding liberal terrorist with a questionable mother. It’s crazy, and it gets old real fast. Especially to the dinosaurs. George cued in with, “Listen guys, it’s way too early on a Friday morning in Nashville to be bickering. We need to help each other through this mess, like we should. Come on?”

Every single response was positive.

“That’s right, drivah, you right!”

“Amen, brother.”

“That’s a biiiii-iiiiiig ten-fo!”

Traffic was still a cluster of squirrel guts, like only Nashville can be, and there were still snarky comments all around, but there was a lot more focus on where the bears and taillights were, and a lot less talking about dumb stuff, and the little pack got through Nashville unscathed.

That’s what it’s about, people.

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