The rain is really pouring now. You can barely see out through the windshield, the traffic is heavy … keeping track of the cars and trucks barrelling along is getting harder and harder. Suddenly, in front of you, you see the big tanker semitrailer you’ve been following for miles fishtailing in front of you. Hemmed in by a SUV on your right, a sedan on your left, you watch in horror as the truck jackknifes. Nothing to do but hit the brakes, hope for the best, tell your loved ones you love them … but you forgot, the road is slick with rain and cast-off motor oil, particalized bits of rubber and plastic … you can feel the car lift up off the pavement, feel yourself cut loose from its tether to the Earth. All you can do is stare at the flammable placards on the side of the tanker as you hydroplane to a firey doom.
How does it feel to have given the keys to the Peterbuilt to a cranked-up psycho? Yes, yes, I know he was entertaining at the truck stop, regaling us with stories about his toughness, about how he wasn’t like those pansy drivers who follow the rules of the road. HE was going to get his cargo to it’s destination, and anybody who got in his way be damned. “Hell, this is great!” people thought. A REAL MAN. Give him the keys.
So you zipped right along, leaving chumps in your wake, drafting along behind this cowboy, heedless of speed limits and traffic conditions. It got a little dicey there, when he merged too quick and set off that chain reaction pile-up, but at least it wasn’t YOUR corpse burning in those wrecks. We had places to go, gasoline to deliver, miles to burn! At the next fill-up, he’d clapped you on the shoulder, bought you another beer and laughed when you admitted that he’d made you piss your pants a little. “What are you, some pussy latte drinker from Taxachussetts?” he’d mocked.
So you look out your windshield now, at the initial impacts, of the blooming fire mushrooming out of the spreading wreck you’re sliding inexorably towards, and you wonder …
… why won’t someone save me. After all, it’s not MY fault he’s crazy.
