TruckSuds: a truckin’ soap opera
Hey, everbody – I’m sorry that I’m runnin’ a mite behind, but there’s really been a lot goin’ on around here.
You remember last week, a mean-to-the-bone trucker had slapped his girlfriend an’ then run off an’ left her here at Mamie’s. The grungy driver also fueled up an’ stiffed the fuel stop for the money. So then the waitresses (can’t get used to callin’ them ‘servers’) kinda joined forces an’ got the poor girl some ice an’ had her sit in the back, where nobody’d notice her swollen face. Turns out she’s related to Mamie – her adoptive mother is Mamie’s second cousin. Well, that bit of information meant she’s family, y’know, so we’re all tryin’ to figure out how to help her.
Wasn’t thirty minutes later when my sister, Flora Fora, calls me on her cell an’ tells me she’s fallen over an’ onto her cat, an’ she an’ the cat are both hurt. So I drop everthin’ an’ rush her over to an urgent care center, where they took an x-ray, while Tiffany takes the cat to the vet for its x-ray. Well, both of ’em broke their left wrists. At least I guess a cat has a wrist. Anyways, onct they get home, in their matching lil’ pink casts, Flora kinda starts to sniffle, an’ then the waterworks start. My sister don’t usually cry, so this took me by surprise. But what she was most upset about was she realized she couldn’t look after her broken wrist an’ her cats all by herself, an’ where was she gonna get some help?
I made a beeline back to Mamie’s to ask that very question, an’ sure enough, the gals there said, well, Clarissa was needing a job, because that junkyard dog of a trucker had taken off with the savings she’d had aboard the truck. Seems she’d been hidin’ a dollar here an’ a dollar there, fixin’ to leave the brute when she could, but now he was gone an’ so was her nest egg. Nadine speaks up an’ says Clarissa would probly be happy to help Flora out, an’ the work wouldn’t be too hard for her.
“Why are you worryin’ about hard work, Nadine? You always say ‘hard work never kilt anyone’ an’ fer Pete’s sake, you’ve worked hard all your life. Passed the century mark a while back.”
“Miles, I’m not expectin’.”
“Well, that really would be one for the record books, honeybunch,” I started to say, but Nadine had a dishtowel in her hand an’ gettin’ riled, so I backed off. You don’t wanna have Nadine pop you with a dishtowel. She’s brought burly truckers to their knees afore.
So that kinda helped everbody out all around, an’ then Trooper Snake walks in. We showed him the video cam photo of the license plate of the truck cab, an’ he looks at it real hard for a few minutes. “Something isn’t right about this,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Anybody have a magnifying glass?” He gets one, an’ then studies the photo some more. “There’s at least one number on this plate that’s been altered – and I’d bet there’s fake registration papers for it too.” So then we told Snake the whole story, at least the little we knew of, an’ he says that’d be assault an’ battery, an’ possible abandonment if they’re married, plus the theft of the fuel, plus alterin’ the plate an’ probably fake or forged paperwork to go with it.
’Bout then B.A. Grouseman saunters up an’ says, “Gee! That’s more tickets than you’ve written for me at one time, Trooper Snake.”
“Don’t push your luck, B.A.,” Snake says calmly, an’ then asks if he can talk to the lady who’s been left behind.
Tiff went to get Clarissa, an’ when they come back, the girl takes one look at Trooper Snake an’ keels over in a dead faint.
Well, that’s real life at the truckstop for now. I gotta go an’ get the potato chip racks restocked with supplies again, an’ I’ll fill you in more when I get back.