There are some things that I have accepted will never be on the agenda for me: Rock climbing. Ballet dancing. Running along the top of a moving train and jumping from carriage to carriage. Just little things, that I am pretty sure I don’t have to coordination for.
Well, now I can add one more to the list: Truck driving. I will never be a truck driver.
I’m a very good driver, so that isn’t the issue.
The issue is more the getting in and out of the truck. Those things are frigging huge. And judging by the way I carried on once inside the truck, I have to tell you that I don’t see this as a profession in my near future. Look at me, I’m in a truck!
And now we have arrived at the reason why I was trying to clamber into a truck.
I had just had my eyebrows waxed and tinted, and thought I’d go for a drive afterwards. Blow away some cobwebs or something, I don’t know really. But I did. And I thought to myself, “I’ll just go and grab a coffee from Hungry Jacks”. So I did. It was in the drive through bit, just after I’d payed, with several cars behind me, that my car BROKE DOWN. It just stopped. And wouldn’t restart.
The girl at drive through told me to pump the accelerator, because that’s what she does. I did so and the car stayed still. Then she called a manager to arrest me or some shit. He shoved my car through drive through (straight past my coffee, by the way), and left me in the waiting bay. As he walked back into the store, I tried to turn over the engine again. It started! The manager came back with my coffee and laughed when he heard the engine running happily. I thanked him, and left.
Turned right, and was about to pull onto the express way, and the car STOPPED AGAIN.
So I called roadside assistance and waited. They decided to send me a tow truck, and I asked them to just tow the car back to my house so that I could work out what to do from there.
Then a big truck came. It was freaking HUGE. The driver told me to jump in the front seat while he loaded my car up. So I scampered round to the passenger side, coffee slushing in my tummy. And I kid you not, the door was level with my head. I had hold on to the “Oh Jesus” bars (that’s what the tow truck driver told me they are), and haul my rather large arse up the ladder.
This was possibly one of the most undignified movements I have ever made. I remember pointing my arse outwards, and giggling like a loon. But I did it!
That’s my car, coming onto the tilt tray behind me.
And this is inside the truck:
The driver got back in the truck and immediately started explaining to me about the best way to get out of the truck, and what I absolutely should not do when trying to get out. Something tells me he saw the arse poking and giggling. He then told me he didn’t have medical cover for me, if I landed on my face. For the entire duration of the trip, he explained the exit procedure.
I really think he must have seen my entry performance, and was left questioning my abilities.
So there you have it. The reason I will never be a truck driver: getting in and out of it requires more coordination than I have.
Plus, I’m just not cool enough. I’m yet to see any truck driving mates post selfies like mine.
Over to you – do you have coordination issues? Have you hitched a ride in a truck? Did it smell funny?