Short Story / Tricks or Treat

Tricks or Treat

What follows is the closest thing I have to a real life Penthouse Letter; rated “G” dagnabbit. After ten years and a million miles logged driving across the state of South Carolina this is the closest I’ve ever come to playing a role in a time-told truckers’ tale of wanton woman folklore. Every word is true.

Currently I rack up 430 miles a night across the northeastern quarter of the state. Driving through farmland in the middle of the night doesn’t exactly give chance to topless college coeds flying by working on their tans. Neither are you likely to stumble upon any long-legged lady in distress hiking her dress up hitching a ride. However in the darkness you do find plenty of time to daydream about such loneliness inspired horn-dog impossibilities.

Fact is you try anything you can to stay awake. Unfortunately my route hasn’t the time for bathroom breaks required with gulping down coffee and I haven’t the budget or desire to get addicted to caffeine in pill form. In the long haul I found fantasizing far more fun than calisthenics bobbing my head to rock-n-roll or a tricking ice cube atop my noggin.

Until last night I never experienced any temptation beyond a pedestrian or two I steered wide of. The only Bambis I ever saw were of the four-legged variety. The most excitement I could expect was slamming and swerving to avoid a close encounter of the venison kind.

The pressure isn’t worth the pay, it never is. Tractor, transmission, and auto parts all have to be delivered on time. I was told that if I didn’t make it to my last tractor stop by 8am my route lost money for the day. Scheduling is as tight as they can make it and departures often delayed. Since I have everywhere to be and no time to get there standard procedure is to proceed at 10 mph above the posted speed limit. When running late you push it as far as you dare, keeping in mind the irony of unemployment due to missing a deadline one two many times verses dismissal after getting two speeding tickets within a three year period. Employers always want to have their cake and eat it too. They want you to speed, just don’t get caught. How you do it is up to you, the backbone of the company. They don’t want to know. They just want to keep insurance premiums minimal; hence the required steel-toed torture devices nipping at your heels all night. Bi-monthly meetings remind you that you are indispensable; lack of pay-raises inform you that you’re disposable.

Fridays bring with them extra blue-light specials as well as those who absolutely positively cannot stay in their lane or within any reasonable set speed. Nothing makes your Friday night quite like having oncoming traffic chuck a beer bottle your way. Cruising at 65 nearing my first stop I happened upon a speeding car going the other way. SC261, being a two-lane road, left little room for maneuvering, not that I saw it coming. Pitching-them-back Rednecks and their intoxicated carnival cravings; the loud crack at 1:30am certainly got my undivided attention! Impact left a softball sized dent just above my driver’s side headlamp and just below my windshield. I nearly got stuck in Stuckey.

Needless to say I was ticked off. Despite that they would have seen me coming a mile away and could have easily out-accelerated my 16 foot box truck, I spent the next 25 minutes cursing myself for not attempting a U-turn to retrieve their tag number. And then it happened.

Half way to Georgetown I got myself mooned on a moonless night. There she was, plain as day, skirt up, and hunched over, wiggling her tail high and proud for my headlights to land upon. She was a fine, full-figured lass, full of vim and vigor and vodka no doubt. It wasn’t the full Monty, the dainty derriere’s undies tucked in tight where the sun doesn’t shine. Immediately I forgot all about contemplating whether that dastardly vandal’s aim was for my headlight or my head. I sure got an eye-full of grade-A rump.

I saw more than expected considering the hour and that she was a good 15 feet away from the roadside. (My trucks brighter than average headlights have spared many a deer) Traveling 60 mph I have no idea what age she was, other than it was almost certainly over 16 and likely under 30 due to the lack of gravity dragging her derriere down. I should have wiggled my trucks rear-end in return, damn the tossed freight. Hell I should have slammed it into reverse, damn the back-up alarm. But I sat froze in the precious moment, replaying the show over and over again in my refreshed perverted mind.

I soon found myself forgetting exactly where I was. If I had returned to the scene of anything butt a crime what would I have found? Likely an empty lot, the herd of teenagers I suspect dared her would have run off. Or who knows, perhaps she was bait for a high-jacking? Drooling, I couldn’t imagine a more luscious lure. There was no way she knew who I was. Even if you could ID my truck at night, I only go that way once a month or so when I don’t have anything for Andrews. Still I preferred contemplating the more magnificent most pleasurable possibilities.

The next 2 ½ hours were spent wonderfully wondering what might have been. Did I blow a once in a lifetime golden opportunity? It wouldn’t be the first time. What derailed my magical mystery train of thought-arriving at my first stop in Little River.

At this particular stop I removed several large pieces. While I was moving the next stops freight to the back of the truck, what should I hear; girlish giggling off in the distant dark. Sounded way too good to be true, nonetheless my expectations rose. Could I been in for a “flash” back? Or was my foolish mind playing tricks on me?

While I finished up I heard the sound of someone running towards the back of the truck. Do I dare dream-a femme-fatale flashing streaker? How about a herd of anything but sober sorority sweethearts? What I got was a shirtless high school lad, jeans still on-thank God!

The only thing I know about God for sure is that He, She, It, or They, has a wicked sense of humor. I finished the day with thoughts of the night. Two tricks and one treat…if only life’s odds were as good.

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