Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Read My Truck
I have long been fascinated by people who put messages in the back windows of their trucks with press on letters that I assume they purchase at Auto Zone.
Wait. Rewind. In deference to my friend, Mr. Alpha Male, who has been known to say of me, "She speaks in superlatives. The sooner you know that about her, the more chance you'll have of understanding what she actually means," let me correct myself.
Fascinated is too strong a word; interested is too strong a word. It's fairer to say I've noticed these bits of wisdom on wheels and wondered about them.
I've been on two short road trips two weekends in a row. Last weekend on the way to visit friends in Georgia, The Guy, Oldest Friend, and I got caught up in the Talladega 500 traffic. It wasn't all that pleasant. We were all pretty disgruntled when Oldest Friend spotted a truck up ahead with "Wild Bill and Crazy Cathy" in the window. In retrospect, it wasn't all that funny but, at the time, you'd have thought Chris Rock had visited our car to do a private stand up routine for the three of us. Remember—race weekend traffic. Times were hard.
But after we calmed down, I got to wondering about Bill and Cathy. Are they a radio morning team? Did they choose these names for themselves and, if so, how much time did they put into it? Or is Bill, in fact, wild, in the sense that he was raised by wolves? If that is the case, why is he allowed to drive a truck? How did he develop marketable skills to earn money with which to buy it? And is Cathy truly sadly crazy, as in delusional? If so, why would anyone be so mean as to put that on a truck window? Or does she just get a little crazy on the dance floor? Either way, it takes both of them to equal a late seventies Saturday Night Live Steve Martin.
This past weekend, The Guy, Plotter, and I were returning from Knoxville, when The Guy started reading: "To Baby Girl. In Memory of my Precious Sister". This message was printed in gold rimmed maroon letters that matched the truck. It looked so good I'm not sure a professional sign painter didn’t do it, which would stand to reason. Surely, if someone felt led to memorialize a departed loved one on a truck window, an expert would have to be called.
But why? Did the truck originally belong to her? Or was it bought with money from a lawsuit over her accidental death? Was he driving an old unsafe vehicle before she extracted a deathbed promise from him to buy something new? I went on and on about this until I am sure The Guy and Plotter wanted to sedate me.
I finally said, "I'm blogging about this Tuesday."
"Why?" Plotter asked.
"I don't know," I told her. "I just have to."
Maybe that's the answer to messages in truck windows: Sometimes you just have to.
Ever done anything because you just had to?