Just over two weeks ago, I drove a loaded "22-foot" (that's just the back part!) diesel moving van over 300 miles across state to my new location. It's a long story, filled with all the sordid details we normally omit when someone asks, "So, how ARE you?"
After some time on the main highway, I no longer felt the size of the truck, I just focused on keeping the windshield centered in the lane. It was kind of like I imagine a video game might be. Almost an automatic action.
Until we pulled off the highway for supper. In the dark and drizzle. And I tried to back the truck into a parking space at an angle. And didn't see the cute yellow VW bug that had been situated at the very back of the parking lot to keep from being hit. Crunch. I felt just awful about knocking out it's lights. When I read "Fellowship of Police" on the license plate, I thought to myself, "Sister, if you're gonna' mess up, do it good!"
Two points of consolation later: a friend reminded me that professional truck drivers spend many training hours learning to back up their rigs, and, two unrelated people mentioned that with the size (and engine noise level) of the truck I was driving, I could have run over the little car without even knowing it.
Fortunately I had signed up for maximum insurance coverage before the adventure. Phew! And now I know for certain sure, I'm not interested in being a truck driver for hire.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment