Have you ever had a heaping helping of humble pie? It’s something I’ve had plenty of. But it’s good to laugh at ourselves every now and again. I have always been good at backing into challenging spaces. It’s not that I’m boasting, it just always came fairly easy to me. But I understand it’s not everyone’s strongest point – and mistakes can become very expensive in a hurry. One day, back in 2002, I was served some humble pie in front of a very amused crowd of drivers. This poem tells the story, so I’ll keep the introduction here short. But, I humbly admit, this story is completely true. So, enjoy the taste of the sweet humble pie I was served!
HUMBLE PIE
By Trevor Hardwick
I rolled up to the guard shack,
At a place called Sysco-Kent.
The joint was pretty busy,
But door 10 is where I went.
The dock was kinda tight,
With all the clutter in the lot.
But I got my chicken-truck,
Into that teenie-tiny spot.
Trucks were rolling in all day,
I’d watch them back in place.
Some would back in, expertly,
And some were a disgrace.
Thankful that door 9 was full,
My right side should be safe.
But door 11, on my left,
Was just an empty space.
Here comes C.R. England,
With a trainer and trainee.
And you can bet, the door they get,
Was right there next to me.
The trainer stayed behind the wheel,
Her student got the doors.
And we all watched, as driver-one,
Was sweating from her pores.
She tried her best, but it was tight,
She had no room to swing.
And backing with an audience,
Is an intimidating thing.
From where I sat, inside my cab,
I could see her getting close.
Her trailer, within inches,
Of my headlights, at the most.
I was in a three-five-nine,
With extended hood and ‘base.
But she was in a pickle,
I could see it on her face.
I honked my horn and hollered “STOP!”
She halted just in time.
Her taillights were just above,
That left fender of mine.
I stepped down from my cab,
And I breathed a nervous sigh.
She assumed that she had hit me,
And tears were in her eyes.
By now the crowd was entertained,
But I calmed her down a bit.
That Sysco, up in Kent,
Is just a cluster of a pit.
I told her, “Just go take a break,
I’ll back your trailer in.”
I climbed into that England truck,
As the crowd stood there and grinned.
I pushed the yellow knob,
And I stuck that thing in gear.
I let out of the clutch,
But it didn’t go anywhere.
I tried it once again,
As other drivers stood around.
They looked at me, like I’m the guy,
Who came from out-of-town.
One more try, to no avail,
The dang thing wouldn’t move!
I’m not a dummy, although by now,
That’s something I must prove.
I know the crowd would love to see,
Me smash into my truck.
But I’d just like to figure out,
Why I’m a sittin’ duck.
Just then, “Mrs. Trainer”,
Walked up to the driver’s door.
She opened it and asked me,
If I’ve driven trucks before.
I looked at her, quite perturbed,
And she just smirked at me.
Then she fired that diesel up,
By turning on the key!
I could hear the laughter,
Of the drivers who were there.
And then I backed her trailer in,
Like I just didn’t care.
Humble pie is bittersweet,
Humility is free.
Put that rig in gear,
But don’t forget to turn the key!
