Hello truckers and right seat covers – this is Nadine Wheeler, who’s been the oldest Right Seat Cover in the eighteen-wheeled world known as truckin’ … and if you don’t know what a Right Seat Cover is, well, then, young’uns, you’re reading the wrong blog!
Speaking of adventures, you know Miles an’ me decided we was gettin’ too old to be out on the road in all kinds of weather, so we re-tired here to Mamie’s Gas Up and Go Truckstop. Mamie’s got a heart as big as the whole US of A map put together, an’ she insisted she needed one more waitress an’ someone to help at the fuel island. Well, of course, once diesel gets in your veins, you really can’t stay away from truckin’ altogether, and that gave us both good jobs without drivin’. We have a lil’ house in the back an’ it’s just the right size for me an’ my favorite ol’ coot. He’s been real busy this week, so I ast him if I could write the blog for him an’ he said I could— – an’ then I turned on the water real hard in the kitchen sink, so that’s all I heard. And here I am, the Oldest Truckstop Waitress in the world (at 108 years young), servin’ Mamie’s superb coffee an’ chattin’ with all you gear jammers when you check in.
I try to help Miles out when I can. He was still driving at 110 … but I got him started in the mornin’s. You other ladies who travel with your driver/husbands know what I mean. Used to a couple of doughnuts an’ a hot cuppa would get us both up an’ at ’em, but now we need a real breakfast. So we amble over to Mamie’s for biscuits an’ gravy and some hash browns with a scrambled egg or two to help me keep my girlish figure.
Speaking of girlish figures, I remember back when I sure showed mine off. It was 1937, and we were there, in D.C. when they passed the Fair Labor Act. Huh! Nothin’ fair about it. That durn bill exempted farm workers and truck drivers right off. I was hoppin’ mad! Miles an’ me were up in the Visitors’ Gallery there at Congress, an’ so I took off my shirt an’ waved it up an’ down, hollerin’ “They’re takin’ the shirts right off our backs!” in protest.
Well, nobody noticed. Except for one nasty little smart-mouth – somebody said he was a page (huh – looked like no more than a sentence to me) who rudely said, “Put your shirt back on, boy!”
I was so mad – an’ of course, Miles laughed an’ laughed until he doubled over. He did later that night, too. He slept on the doghouse in our old cab-over, an’ I had the bunk to myself.
All righty, truckers, you stay safe on your journey now, an’ if you get a chance, drop me a line in care of Mamie’s. I get lonesome with just Miles to talk to when the truckstop’s closed – he turns off his hearing aid an’ ignores me ever time there’s a game on.
Yours most sincerely,