Those that consider trucking a job, and consider “Prisoner of the Highway” a cheesy country song, and those that live the song.
I came to this conclusion while talking to a food service driver while we were fuelling. He told me the job sucked, dealing with customers sucked, he had to drive too much (4 hrs!) and the only reason he liked the job was the *money* was good.
I realized something: I couldn’t do it.
To work a job that I didn’t like, just for *money*? No way. Me, I need to see that highway stretch out while looking over my hood, to catch that downshift and climb that hill, to see what lies beyond that curve. I want to watch the sun set hundreds of miles from where I watched it rise, to hear that rumble and that whine. To flirt with truck stop cuties and hear the oldtimers talk. To me, this is not a job. This isn’t about *money*. Now some of you may call me a fool, that *money* is all that matters. Fine. You do you. But some of you will understand when I say I’ve been imprisoned by the freedom of the road.
