Road. Just open road with the course I am on. Nothing but the radio lowly playing and the occasional bark from next to me.
My only friend in life right now is, Tanker. He is a chocolate lab and goes everywhere I go. Also, he sits up well in the passenger seat of my eighteen wheeler.
For Tanker and myself the road is the only place we really belong. To just keeping going whether it is north, east, south, or west. I take just about any job that will supply the total I set out for the companies for my fees.
I haul anything that is not illegal and if it will fit in the enclosed trailer. The prices I give for my fees are fair, since I look at the price of diesel and the miles it takes to get everything from point A to point B along with the days it may take. Add on a little extra to the price for profit as well, which helps to put money towards repairs or tires my large girl need.
Which most of the time makes it to where I always have a job to do once my last job and customer is satisfied with the delivery. All keeps me busy and moving, something I have needed to feel for several years now.
Many would say it is not a stable job and ask what my plan is if everything goes to shit. Well at this stage in my life after the way life has thrown so much at me, I will figure it out.
One thing that does bring a smile to my face is the fact I still get to help people, even being behind the scenes to most. Truckers haul their supplies and help to fill the shelves and which is the closest I can get to helping others.
I don't sit well with being trapped indoors all day long. Even worst in a suite. There is no way I will be trapped in a prison outfit for the entire day or burning up hot just to look good.
No way. I look just fine in jeans and a t-shirt. At times I get a little scruff going on but at least I keep up my haircut short and neat.
Pulling the parking brakes on the truck and trailer, I let the clutch go and turn off the truck.
"Come on Tanker. Time to get your vest on." I sigh to my pooch.
When going down the road, I don't have it on his fur to where he is free but getting out of the truck his vest is needed.
Why does he need a vest? He is my service dog that my psychiatrist told me would be the best option I had and helped to slow my visits to him to none now.
Granted, Tanker has been a help in making things better and knows when I get in my own head and need help getting out.
It is the stares I get from strangers that makes me uncomfortable because there is normally at least two phrases I hear just about everytime we stop on a major city. 'Why does a young person like you need a service dog?' Or the phrase, 'You're to young to need help and I don't see a thing wrong with you.'
To strangers, I don't want to tell my life's story. At the time, I am not proud of my life over the last 7 years and still have issues dealing with it myself.
Everyday I carry guilt, because I am alive and shouldn't be. My parents even blame me for the worst event that happened in my life.
I open the cab of my truck and jump out with Tanker following a second behind me. I lock up the door, because in the city trust no one. Idiots have stolen semi's.
We walk to the truck stop and I pick up several drinks with snacks. Walking up to the counter, the woman rings up my things. While she places everything into the plastic bag, her eyes swivel to Tanker.
"Cute dog." She smiles.
I nod my head in thanks.
She gives my total and I swipe my card in the machine.
"Is there anything else you need?" She looks at me again, before handing my receipt.
Isn't that normally a question before a customer pays?
"Could you tell me where the closet hotel may be?"
Seems logical since I hadn't came across any signs for it yet. My miles for the day are almost done, because as a driver we only get so many we can actually drive.
Also, I need to shower and bath Tanker down. The thoughts of an actual larger bed than what's in my sleeper sounds perfect right about now too. At least better for the money today by getting a room. Truck stop showers are pricey on their own but I can't stand going a day without it. Honestly I refuse to be that stereotype everyone puts on us.
"Sure the closet is going to be two exits away. So around thirty miles." She smiles.
"Thanks." I take my bags.
"If you want I can swing by after work?" She winks.
"No, thanks. The information about the hotel is more than enough." I grimace and walk away quickly.
Another thing.
What is with all these desperate women? No matter where I stop for the night when sleeping in my truck there is typically at least one woman that comes knocking on my door while in the cities.
Once back in the truck, I get Tankers vest off and place my drinks and his water in the cooler.
"Well Tanker. Do you think we dodged that truck bunny?" I chuckle lightly.
Tanker tilts his head at me, before his tongue lulls out of his mouth in a small pant. I pat his fur some while the trucks air pressure comes back up.
Making it back on the road, I watch the traffic and signs for the hotel exit. With plenty of time to spare for when this delivery is scheduled to be completed by in the next two days.
Early delivery is better than late. At least not being late they don't try to take off what they owe.