We all know how important a thorough pre-trip inspection is. Or at least we all SHOULD know this. Not only is it a safe and wise practice to perform, but it’s also a legal obligation as a professional commercial driver. I’m not here to tell you the formalities of how to perform your pre-trip or how long it should take to properly complete one, that’s not what I do here. I write trucking-related poems and, sometimes, I like to spin a little ridiculousness and humor into the poems. I like to make people laugh, and I enjoy hearing the feedback out on the road when other drivers tell me their thoughts about something I’ve written. Most commonly, people seem to enjoy reading something they can relate to… something that brings back memories… or something that makes them laugh. So, this poem is just a humorous portrayal of something I think we have all seen – the inconsiderate driver who will park on the fuel island to take care of business that is NOT fueling, while other drivers wait in line for the pumps. In this case, the driver carelessly shops in the store, uses the restroom, and plays on his phone. Then, he meanders out to his truck that is parked on the fuel island and proceeds to perform a pathetic version of a pre-trip inspection while being fully aware of a driver waiting in line. Do your pre-trip, folks, as it’s crucially important, but don’t be this guy…
THE PRE-TRIP
By Trevor Hardwick
Just about the time,
That the sun comes up.
I’ll be reaching for my favorite,
Dirty coffee cup.
I’ll walk inside,
Splash some water on my face.
And order something funky,
From the hot food case.
I’ll fill that cup,
With the stuff they made last night.
It ain’t that bad,
So, I’m guessing it’s alright.
Then I head to the counter,
With a couple dollar bills.
I hand it to the lady,
Who’s been standing at the till.
I walk outside,
To the place I parked my mule.
Otherwise known,
As the island where you fuel.
I noticed there’s a driver,
Who’s been waiting there in line.
So, I wave at him by raising up,
That coffee cup of mine.
I open up the door,
Toss my groceries on the bed.
Fire up the truck,
As if to pull it up ahead.
First I have to empty out,
These bags of trucker-trash.
Squeegee all the windows,
And hose down all the glass.
I put the hose away,
And grab my tire-thumpin’ bat.
Walk around and smack the treads,
To make sure nothing’s flat.
The other driver’s barking,
But I can’t hear what he said.
As I slowly climb up in the cab,
And roll the truck ahead.
He hollered out a sacred name,
And laid upon his horn.
And asked me if just yesterday,
Was the day that I was born.
I pulled ahead and set my brakes,
And let the engine run.
I wandered back inside,
Because my “pre-trip” wasn’t done.
I need to wander, aimlessly,
While scrolling on my phone.
And kill a few more minutes,
With a visit to the throne.
Once I wrap things up,
And all the paperwork’s complete.
I’ll head back to the truck,
And then I’ll finally hit the street.
That concludes the process,
And no matter what you say.
I always do my pre-trip like this,
Each and every day.