As I have learned from Will Ferrell's version of the host of "In the Actor's Studio," Scrumtrulescent means, 'I have no words." About what I have no words is the question that must be answered here. I have no words for the great unexpected turn my life has taken from running my own photography business to becoming a professional truck driver with my husband. It is not the most savory or respected profession. It seems to fall just short of the respect illegal alien field workers have been getting this past year, but it does come ahead of AL Quaida, I think.
After earning two degrees in the leisure services and tourism management, I had a pretty good idea of the direction my photography career would go. I will not share it here so as to keep my idea a secret until I can patent it or trademark it or what. Eloping with John in January '06 was not in the plan, but it is what I wanted, so we eloped. Then we moved for financial reasons, then I could not get a job, he was injured, we were stuck with nowhere to turn. Now we are living in a Freightliner Condo pulling trailers all over the US each driving 450-650 miles per day most days. I went from a 3,000 sq. foot dream house to a bunkbed set up slightly smaller than a twin and about 40 sq feet of storage space for food, clothes, incidentals, music, computers, snow chains, necessary equipment, and sundries.
Am I complaining? No. I actually really like this work. I do not like peeing my pants. This has officially happened 3 times since I took up this job. I am stuck on this idea because it is the one I find least diginified and the one thing I never would have imagined myself doing. Peeing on the side of I-5 in LA, CA during rush hour traffic because there is no way on this planet I was going to be able to get the 72' behemouth through traffic quickly to the nearest truck stop.
Yes, trucks are limited by the size, the laws, and the locations available. In Cali, truck stops are a rarity. So after doing seat ballet, skittering around during my inspection, shifting and clenching while I did my log book, then examining angles to figure out if there was any place I could squat without being seen before I burst or turned yellow, I discovered the sad fact that bodily functions cannot be embarassing.
We spend so much time hiding them from other people, but we cannot stop them from happening. I made a new rule. In the bathroom anything goes--poop, pee, pick, scratch, clean, wipe, huff and puff, blow the house down. That is the place designated for all bodily functions and should be the one place a person can go to and make all the noise and swishing sounds they need to without being laughed at, or made to feel stupid--of course leave the bathroom clean.
I have seen some pretty amazing things in our rest areas. A living mouse in a metallic toilet in the urine diluted with water in New Mexico, not the greatest discovery when you are running liking a flying mouse out of hell holding your crotch hoping you won't have an accident. You push open the stall door and what do you know you just can't use that one. There is a living mouse saturated in urine. If you pee on it, your cruel. If you pick it up and out your not only gross, and brave, but probably sick for at least a week and plagued with night mares. Nightmares about wet bats flying out of the toilet at the least opportune time and fluttering around your buttocks, tickling you so hard you laugh until you pee. Then you wake up having wet the bed. It can become a vicious cycle. Hypothetically. I never wet the bed. No. No.
So here I am a somewhat educated 34 year old newlywed touring America's rest stops and most of those great truckin' stories are about the time I peed here, there, and how I pee everywhere and anywhere. I do not poor the pee in the lot, but I can pee in the truck, in a cup. I can pee with my pants up. It is a new Dr. Seuss story line I am thinking of submitting. Now that he has passed they seem to be writing about anything in his name. I think getting the youth of America prepared for the truth about peeing that nobody ever talks about is going to benefit us in the long run. Maybe some young thinker will come up with a better solution than adult diapers, open mouth jars, rest areas, or 5 gallon buckets. These are all useful but hardly the ideal.
I now understand why dogs sniff around for that perfect spot on the ground to lift their leg, or in our Chihuahua's case, spread their legs. They are clean animals. They want a clean bathroom. How different are we? Not very! We scope out each toilet looking for the cleanest least used with the dryest floor and flushed or the one with the greatest combination of these available. Usually we find one with 2 out of the 4 preferences and overlook the other two missing preferences.
Now multiply this times 8-10 times per day. Oh, Pardon me, John just found a rest area . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment