You know that guy… we all do… the guy who epitomizes every annoying habit that a truck driver could have. That guy who would rather blind you with his high beams to let you over, than to dim his lights, or simply don’t do anything. That guy who merges onto the freeway and can’t get up to speed until you’re right next to him, running a potato sack race in the hammer lane. That guy who has an auxiliary power unit, but won’t use it – he would rather idle all night when its 55 degrees outside and let the rest of us marinate in his weed-burner exhaust fumes while we get to listen to his belts squeal every time his engine fan kicks on to cool the AC condenser. That guy who you’ve been waiting behind, in the fuel island, for what seems like an eternity. Only to see “that guy” waddling back out to his truck with his shower bag and a sub-sandwich dragging behind him. That guy really chaps my hide. Be yourself, do your thing, and enjoy the drive, but don’t be “That Guy” – please!
THAT GUY!
By Trevor Hardwick
Hey y’all, it’s me again,
The one you call “That Guy!”
The one you raise your finger to,
Whenever you pass by.
I’m the one who rolls along,
At 50, just ahead.
Until you try to pass me,
Then it’s 70, instead.
I merge onto the freeway,
Doing 20 less than you.
Until you’re right beside me,
Then I’ll see what she can do.
This truck has huge antennas,
So you’d think I’m on the air.
But I don’t turn the CB on,
‘Cause, frankly, I don’t care.
Yes, I use my signals,
‘Cause I wanna do what’s right.
You’re just mad because I often,
Let it blink all night.
I see you’ve washed your fancy rig,
And then it starts to rain.
But I’ll still roll beside you,
Spraying road grime from my lane.
I’ll flash my high-beams at you,
When you pass me on the hill.
‘Cause I can’t seem to pry,
My driving gloves off the wheel.
Tonight I’ll park beside you,
And I’ll idle all night long.
My air-dryer and squealing belts,
Will sing to you a song.
In the morning I’ll grab breakfast,
And a shower that is hot.
But not before I find my favorite,
Fuel pump parking spot.
Then I’ll hit the road again,
On 17 good tires.
One is bad, but I don’t care,
‘Cause I don’t have to buy ‘er.
I’ll catch you on the flip-flop,
Like the ones upon my feet.
Watch for me on YouTube,
Hopping curbs on city streets!
