Truck Stop Christmas

This is a true story. It was told to me by a guy I met on a Riverboat. That’s how I know it’s true; who could doubt the veracity of a River Rat? He didn’t use any backup singers when he told it to me, but I thought since this is going out on the Internet and all, I should polish it up a bit.

I spared no expense to fly these women in from Nashville. They are, I am proud to tell you, the same backup singers who did all that “Wah-ooo” stuff on C.W. McCall’s records.

I am laboring under a serious deadline, so the singers and I haven’t had much time to practice. We will do the best we can. I’ll play the part of the Trucker (imagine a Red Sovine-ish, Tex-Ritter-On-Acid kind of thing). It goes a little somethin like this:

Singers:

It was a Truck Stop Christmas,    

With a light snow fallin down,

In Penciltucky, but it could have been     

In any other town.    

The miracle that happened    

We may never understan,    

But, here to tell the story    

Is a Truck Drivin Man...

Trucker:

Well, I'z—

Singers:

A Truck Drivin Maa-aan. Wah-ooo.

Trucker:

Skewz me. I'z drivin down a stretch of Interstate, an' I'z really gettin hungry. Every time I'd hit them airbrakes, I'd hear 'em sayin, "Peeech Pie!" And my air horn was tellin me how I like my coffee: BLAAAAAK! BLAAAAK! Oh, I know I shouldn of been barrelin down the Interstate, hittin my airbrakes and blarin the horn like Judgment Day—that’s what too much marijuana’ll do to a man. Prob’ly why I was so hungry, too. Yeah, I’d of given a month’s pay for a big ol’ piece of “Peeech Pie!” I was tryin to remember if there was a Truck Stop on this p'tickler stretch of Interstate; that big diesel motor kept tellin me that there "Wudden! Wudden! Wudden-Wudden-Wudden!"

Singers:

Just a homesick gear jammer

Runnin low on love and luck,

Listenin to his gut growl

And talkin to his truck...

Trucker:

I was 'bout to—

Singers:

Talkin to his truu-uuck. Wah-ooo.

Trucker:

I'm sorry...just kind of wave at me or somethin when it’s my turn, okay? I was 'bout to wet my pants when I came whizzin into town; the lights of an unfamiliar Truck Stop caught my eye. When I walked in, there was this old waitress draggin a dirty rag across the novelty mud flap display. She smiled at me and said, "Merry Christmas, Son." I said, "Lordee, ma'am, is it Christmas already?" She said that yes, yes it was, and I bet my jaw must of hit the floor. Seemed like only yesterday it was October—that's what too much crystal methadrine'll do to a man.

She looked at me for a long time, then said, "You know, I had a son who'd be about your age. He took off drivin trucks and I never did hear from him again. I kept hopin he'd stop in here one day—preferably at Christmas, so I'd get a double dose of the willies."

Well, I put my coffee back in the cup and said, "Ma'am, you can call it coincidence if you want to, but I had a mother who'd be about your age. I talked to Daddy the day before he died, and he told me Mama had missed me so bad, she went out and got a job at a Truck Stop, hopin someday I'd stop in."

Singers:

A Truck Stop Christmas—   

Don't it make you weep?    

The snow continued fallin;

It was really gettin deep...

Trucker:

She said she—

Singers:

Really gettin dee-eeep. Wah-ooo.

Trucker:

Damnit! She said she knew her boy was never gonna walk in at Christmas or any other time, for it was on this p'tickler stretch of Interstate, ten years ago, that her son was toppin a hill and had to swerve to miss a bus load of kids. After he'd plowed through a ditch and nearly turned over, he stuck his head out the window to cuss at the bus driver and his hat blew off. So he jumped out to get it. He should have stopped the truck first, because he was goin 90 miles an hour when he jumped out. Yeah, he was in movin violation of the law of gravity.

She said she hoped I wasn't too disappointed about her not bein my mother, and I said, "Naw, I figured as much since I was only four years old when my mama started workin at a Truck Stop." I told her about a driverless truck that had passed me a few miles back: it was goin 90 miles an hour. I didn't think much about it at the time—that's what too much Night Train'll do to a man—but after hearin her story, I got a case of the hee-bee-gee-beez like you wouldn believe. I leaned across the counter and held onto her tired old hand. I said, "Ma'am, you may not be my mother, but I'll bet you five dollars against the price of the pie and coffee that you can't name all 8 reindeer."

She started to cry and said this was the first time in ten years that Christmas had any meanin for her—she hadn even bothered to put up any decorations. Now that it felt like Christmas, and she knew it would be her last one, all she wished for in the whole wide world was somethin to make it look like Christmas. Well, it just so happened that I was haulin a hot load of cheap plastic Nativity scenes to Chicago for an eleventh-hour trainload sale. I made up my mind right then an' there that this old woman was gonna have one of 'em if it drove every dime store in Chi Town out of business. I said, "You wait right here, Ma'am; this is gonna be the best Christmas you ever had!"

     

Well...that's when I woke up.           

[military-drums-in-the-distance]

I woke up in a foxhole...about 15 miles from White Sands Missile Range. The First Sergeant was shakin me. When I looked up at him, there was a look of curiosity and concern in the narrow eyes that so resembled elongated lug nuts, chiseled into the weather-beaten leather that was his face—two eyes, one on either side of his nose. He told me I'd been yellin in my sleep, somethin 'bout drivin a truck.

I said, "But, Sarge! I am a Truck Driver!"

    

The curiosity and concern melted into a combination of compassion and sarcasm—with just a touch of amused weariness. He said, "Son, you are not a Truck Driver, for you see, that would be impossible."

     

"Why do you say that, Sarge?"

     

"For two reasons," Sarge said: "One, you are a chimpanzee. Two, you don't even have a driver's license."

Well, I thought about that for a moment. My disappointment turned to resignation. I quietly asked Sarge, "If…if I'm not a Truck Driver, then what am I?"

Sarge said, “Speak up, son, I can’t hear you.”

So I says out loud, I says, “If…if I’m not a Truck Driver, then what am I?”

He said, "You are an Astronaut. You just got back from a 5-year trip around Pluto. I don't know what happened to you up there, but I do know this: you are not a Truck Driver."

    

I sat there, chewin on that one for a good long while.

    

Sarge poured us both some coffee. The long silence was broken when I said, "Sarge, what month is this?"

    

He told me it was August.

    

"Well," I said, liftin my cup, "Feliz Nuevo Año, Sarge."

Sarge grinned, and raised his cup. "Happy Halloween, Kid."

    

I poured coffee all down the front of my flight suit—that's what too much weightlessness'll do to a man.

Singers:

It was a Truck Stop Christmas    

With magic in the air;    

It was the nightmare of a monkey,    

And a Mother's answered prayer.    

A mystery, a miracle,

We'll never understan;    

But it's bona fide and sworn to     

By a Truck Drivin Man...    

A Truck Drivin Maa-aan. Wah-ooo.

Labor Day

Getting all psyched up for Labor Day (mostly the 3-day weekend part). Those of us who have jobs are mighty grateful. We also know folks who, through no fault of their own, are out of work. And they have some darn good excuses:

He drove a taxi for a while, but he couldn’t hack it.

She had a job in the shipping department, but they sent her packing.

He worked in a mattress factory, but got laid off.

She opened a gym, but it didn’t work out.

For a while, he was catching frogs for seafood restaurants, but he lost that gig.

She worked in a muffler shop, but came home exhausted.

He worked in a lumber yard (say it with me), but got board.

She was a roofer, but that fell through.

He worked in the Red Wing store until they gave him the boot.

She was a magician’s assistant, the one who got sawed in half. The act split up—but she did get severance pay.

He made wallets, but the business folded.

She was a gold miner, but it didn’t pan out.

He managed the Chipmunks until they showed him the-uh-door.

He was a trapeze artist, but they had to let him go.

She worked at a Mini-Mart until they downsized.

He had a good job manufacturing pedestrian traffic signals until he was given his walking papers.

She worked in a screen door factory, but she talked too much…strained her voice.

He was a taste tester for Ragu until his job was out-sauced.

Her career at the brake shop came to a screeching halt.

He was a donkey wrangler for Juan Valdez until he lost his ass.

He loved working at the sleep clinic and never dreamed he’d be sacked.

Her job at the spice store was just seasonal work.

He was a lumberjack until he got axed…to leave.

She worked for Country Time until her position was e-lemonade-ed.

Even as a professional student he was downgraded.

The job at Victoria’s Secret was fun, and then she got her pink slip.

He was a yoga instructor until his position was terminated.

She worked for Goodyear; they offered her early retirement.

He was a preacher, but being a religious man, refused to work on the Sabbath.

She tried fortune telling, but couldn’t see any future in that.

He hired out as one of Santa’s helpers (he was elf-employed), but they gave him the old heave ho-ho-ho.

She could have had a landscaping job at the cemetery, but she couldn’t work graveyards. She was offered a security guard gig at the veterinary clinic, but they wanted her on the dog watch. How about a maintenance position at the playground? Nah, swing shift.   

He was a department store Easter Bunny, but that Petered out.

She worked in the Huggies plant, but they had to make some changes. (She heard Liquid-Plumr was hiring, but that went down the drain.)

He wanted to open a chain of opium dens, but that was just a pipe dream.

Things at the exotic pet store started out fine for her, but there was just too much monkey business.

He tried to get on as an electrician, but didn’t have the right connections.

She hired on as a letter carrier, but wasn’t sure what she was post to do.

He wanted to be an author, yet he had no typewriter, no computer, no pens, no pencils—he just didn’t have the write stuff.

She made good money selling thongs, but the job wasn’t all it was up cracked to be.

He was a vendor for Dixie Cups, but that went south.

She used to drive a truck; now she’s semi-retired.

He made fried pies, but there was too much turnover.

She opened a fast-food restaurant, but was disenfranchised.

He played trumpet in a Desi Arnaz tribute band, but he Babalu it.

They wouldn’t let her stay at the convent because she wasn’t a team prayer.

He was a mime, but…well, it goes without saying.

More Labor Day Fun:

Hey, kids & retirees!

Before majoring in or training for a new career, make sure it’s something you’ll enjoy. Join us for Experimental Labor Day & we’ll arrange for you to spend some time in your prospective profession. For example:

You can be a Paralegal on a trial basis.

Considering becoming a librarian? Check it out for a couple of weeks.

Think you’d enjoy being a historian? Give it ago.

You could work at Auto Zone…part time.

Do you have a future as a mind reader? See what you think. See what everyone thinks.

Cosmetology? It’s worth a look.

Want to be a shepherd? Get the flock outta here.

Test the water (and get your feet wet) as a hydrologist.

It’s wise to have a Plan B. Have you considered becoming an apiarist?

Do you have tailoring talent? See if it’s a good fit, see if it suits you.

Plumber? Take a crack at it.

Are you interested in becoming a political speech writer? See what lies ahead.

“I’d like to be a radiologist.” Well, let’s see if you have it in you.   

Would you make a good dervish? Give it a whirl.

Work on a Berry Farm? Why Knott?

Labor Day Playlist:

That Lucky Old Sun

Old Man River

Old Rivers

Banana Boat Song (Day O)

Workin in a Coal Mine

16 Tons

9 to 5

6 Days on the Road

5 o’clock World

Get a Job

Take this Job and Shove It

Chain Gang

I Never Picked Cotton

Maggie’s Farm  

She Works Hard for the Money

Workin Man Blues

Workin for a Livin

Takin Care of Business

Draggin the Line

Favorites:

Bang on the Drum All Day

Whistle While You Work

Heigh-Ho (Grumpy, Happy, Sneezy, Dopey, Huey, Dewey, & Blitzen)

Hold Me Back and Let Me Go

Sometimes, when we’re kept on a short rope—by a circumstance, a condition, or maybe even our Creator—it’s to keep us from having enough to hang ourselves. The short rope forces us to focus, explore every proximal possibility, and squeeze out every last drop of creativity. It can be quite fun.

Don’t know about you, but when given too long a lead I’ve often found myself wound around a tree or unceremoniously jerked backward. Not much fun to be had there.

It can be easy to forget that there is a rope and that it will eventually play out. What matters is how we find ourselves at the end of it.

Restrictions restrain the body, and that’s not always pleasant or welcomed. At the same time, the limits unleash the spirit—you know, the part that lasts forever.

Fending Off the Offensive

Well, one thing is clear: We’re not going to get through this election year without a little protective magic. Ergo, The Lonesome Wizard Boys and I did journey yonder to Hogwarts and obtained these 20 spells. (If you’ve misplaced your wand, a yellow #2 pencil will do nicely.)

YoogottaBekiddin!

ExpelIgnoramus!

EngorgioEgo!

HolottaCrapola!

IrateKadaver!

ExpectoMalarkey! 

Impedimental!

LogicEvictus!

ExcrementoDelToro! 

ImperviousGumption!

EschewVerisimilitude!

BellowImbecilia!

JingoistJabber! 

BloviateClaptrap!

Riddikulus!

ExpectoNoBetter!

DingbatAmongUs!

EmbraceFabrication!

RollOverBenFranklin!   

GrazieObama! 

Swamp Duck Picker Pawn People

Mike: You’ve heard of uncharted territory? Well, we were in the big middle of it. Luckily, the camera crew was already there and in position to film us setting foot in it for the first time. We’re the Swamp Duck Picker Pawn People.

Frank: Danielle called to tell us about a unique and rare opportunity: Some guys in Louisiana had a boat paddle they claimed to have found at the main fork of $#!+ Creek.

Mike: We had good directions to the swamp. We were met there by Crock Boy and Granny.

Frank: Granny was an amazing woman. She had dentures made from Alligator and grizzly bear teeth.

Crock Boy: You should see her shadow on a tent wall! (Hooting and leg slapping) It’ll make a city boy wet his pants!

Mike: We hadn’t been there ten minutes before my phone rang. It was our friends from Las Vegas. They have a pawnshop.

Old Man: We didn’t have cellphones when I was growing up. We had semaphore flags. My grandson is an idiot.

Rick: If this thing is real, I want it! No one in recent memory has ever been up $#!+ Creek with a paddle; this could be a first. I’m not an authority on boat paddles, so I called in an expert.

Mike: Meanwhile, Frank told Granny and Crock Boy how to make a turducken. Granny was not impressed.

Granny: I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat anything that starts with them four letters. I ain’t too crazy about the last part, neither.

Rick: Granny was an amazing woman. She was as crude and earthy a person as you could hope to find. She also had her soft side. When the sun went down, she played “Amazing Grace” on a duck call, and it just made your skin crawl.

Corey: My skin is still crawlin.

Old Man: That’s because you have so much of it! Back in the day, if we wanted our skin to crawl, we had to do it ourselves.

Mike: Granny dropped something in the stew pot; it looked like a snake.

Granny: It’s a cotton-headed rattle moxican. It cain’t hurt you. Them’s good eatin!

Chumley: Can we have seconds?

Rick: Early the next morning, Gator Boy poled his pirogue up the bayou to the main fork of $#!+ Creek. If you take the east fork, you stay on $#!+ Creek; if you take the west fork, you’re on Shinola Creek.

Gator Boy: Most folks don’t know the difference. (Pointing to a gravel bar) Right there’s where we found the paddle.

Rick: Our expert, Rowen Oarlock, met us there.

Old Man: People from my generation didn’t need a paddle to get up $#!+ Creek. We never expected one. My son is an idiot.

(The winner and first runner-up of the Sasquatch lookalike contest battle through the camera shot. One of them is wielding a chainsaw, the other one swinging an axe.)

Granny: Those folks have just about ruined this place, cuttin down all the cypress trees… Lord, what’s this world comin to?

Frank: We followed Granny over the top of what looked like a half-submerged semi-truck. It was hard to keep up with her.

Gator Boy: Them ice road truckers is crazy. It ain’t been below freezin around here since…

Granny: Hell, it’s never been!

Rowen: (Examining the boat paddle with a magnifying glass) Rick, you can see that these striations were made by the teeth of a Gaboon. I don’t have to tell you that Gaboons are indigenous to $#!+ Creek. They’ve never found one on Shinola Creek. (Dramatic music, shots of Rick, Mike, and Frank looking wide-eyed and anticipatory; a shot of Danielle back at the shop listening in on the phone; twenty minutes of commercials.)

Rick: We might be looking at the only paddle that has ever been up $#!+ Creek.

Mike: I really want this thing, but I’m going to act like I’m indifferent and lowball the owner.

Rowen: (Examining the boat paddle with his magnifying glass) To recap: Rick, you can see that these striations were made by the teeth of a Gaboon. I don’t have to tell you that Gaboons are indigenous to $#!+ Creek. They’ve never found one on Shinola Creek.

(Rick looks ready to smile. Mike exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Frank. Music builds.)

Rowen: But. (Music stops. Rowen puts down the magnifying glass and tilts his hat back on his head) Gaboons went extinct in 1981, and this paddle—you can tell by the three feathers and the1997 markings on the handle—wasn’t made until 16 years later.

(Assorted bleeped profanities)

Rowen: But! (Maybe-my-life-isn’t-meaningless-after all, pup-ready-to-fetch-if-you’ll-just-throw-it looks from Rick, Mike, and Frank) If we take a little linseed oil and tobacco juice—thanks, Granny—and rub it on with a tuft of armpit hair—Granny, you’re a lifesaver— (suiting action to the words) …you’ll see that the date and one of the feathers disappear. (Deadpan stare) It’s real!

Rick: (To Granny) So what do you want to do? Pawn it? Sell it? Donate it?

Granny: Right, I called you all the way out here so I could donate it to the Beaver Rescue Foundation. Of course I want to sell it! What’s wrong with you?

Mike: I’ll give you five bucks for it. Cash. Right now.

Granny: Do I look stupid to you?

Frank: To be honest, she didn’t exactly look like a Rhodes Scholar, but I wasn’t about to say that to an armed octogenarian, so I offered her 15 dollars if she’d throw in the dentures.

Granny: Jed! Git me Mr. Drysdale on the phone! And Elly May, git them critters out of the cement pond!

Thurston Howell III: I’ll give you 8 million dollars for the boat paddle. Maybe the Skipper and Gilligan can row us back to civilization.

Jeanie: Master, if you’ll just let me use my powers, I can make you hundreds of boat paddles.

June: Ward, I think we should buy it and donate it. I’m worried about the Beaver.

Major Nelson: You’re not Jeanie! You’re Corporal Klinger!

Little Joe: Pa, how come Adam is older than you are?

Archie: Because you’re a dingbat! End of story!

Cisco: (Laughing) Ah, Poncho!

Poncho: (Laughing) Ah, Cisco!

Reading Between the Lines

Hey, look at me when I was younger! Hey, look at me when I was cool!

I haven’t done much since I left, but I was hell on wheels in school.

Hey, here’s a graduation photo, voted most likely to be grand.

Nothing recent. It’s not my fault things did not go quite as planned.

Hey, look at me when I once mattered! Was I the cat’s meow, or what?

“Let’s see a selfie, something recent.” Oh, I’d really rather not.

But hey, look at me when I had hair! Hey, look at me how I was then.

Back when I had all my teeth, back when I had perfect skin.

Back before my flesh started creeping, I had pizazz and a winning grin.

Ere my tattoos looked like tie dye, I was muscular and thin.

Hey, look at me when I had a future. Don’t you dare look at me now.

Don’t look for me at the class reunion; love to see you, but holy cow.

I was shooting for the stars—six, five, four, three, two, one, Blast!

I’m not doing much these days, so I’m happy living in the past.

Hey, I’ll pretend it doesn’t matter; I’ll post a sarcastic cartoon.

I’ll smirk and roll my eyes at the screw ups of some other hapless goon.

Tell your folks I said hello; give your charming spouse my best.

Thanks for accepting my excuses and my Facebook friend request.

We once had all the time in the world; now the years sure do fly by.

I may diminish with each one, but I once was one hell of a guy.

Go on with your magic life; I’ll just stick mine on the shelf,

And be glad there is a place where I can recreate myself.