WANNA GO TRUCKING?
BY DRIVER/POET/ARTIST TREVOR HARDWICK
This industry is filled with all kinds of people. Some grew up around trucks and/or farm equipment, while others grew up watching the explosion of the trucking pop-culture in movies, TV shows and music from the good old days. And yet some folks are drawn to trucking just for a lifestyle or career change and the chance to get paid to see the country. I really dig the old songs and movies that glorify, personify, or otherwise stereotype the great American truck driver, but I really get a kick out of the newly-recruited entrants to the world of gear jammers who still believe that those old stereotypes are an accurate reflection of what drivers are like these days. So, they take a class, get their license, and then hit the road with a new pair of boots, a cowboy hat and a pair of driving gloves to prevent blisters from forming on their dish-pan hands. I love it! Don’t get me wrong, I encourage and welcome anyone who wants to try this way of life, but I urge you to leave the trucker-garb at home. This poem is about a “wanna-be” driver who thinks it takes a certain “image” to run with the big dogs. Enjoy!
THE WANNA-BE
By Trevor Hardwick
I’m gonna give up this ol’ desk job, darlin’,
I’m gonna roll that interstate.
If that surprises you, then hang on, honey,
I’m gonna leave it up to fate.
I used to dream about those big rigs, baby,
I wanna be like Rubber Duck.
I’ll mash that motor, and I’ll ride that ribbon,
If I could ever drive a truck.
I’ve got an office with a view of the city,
I’ve got a reserved parking space.
But I’d rather be down around Nogales,
Lumpin’ produce by the case.
I hear the gossip at the water cooler, daily,
I’d like to tell them where to go.
But in my mind, I’m at an all night café,
Flirtin’ with the waitress they call Flo’.
I wanna push that rig thru stormy weather,
I’ll take the sunshine or the rain.
I want a cowboy hat, with peacock feathers,
And a giant leather wallet on a chain.
You’re gonna see a change in me now, honey,
I’m gonna change the way I talk.
I’ll whisper 10-codes in your ear, little lady,
And then I’ll gently bump the dock.
This 9 to 5 is bound to drive me crazy,
I need to hear that diesel roar.
I’d like to quit my job, and take you with me,
And climb inside that tractor door.
I’m gonna give up this ol’ desk job, darlin’,
I’m gonna roll that interstate.
If that surprises you, then hang on, honey,
I’m gonna leave it up to fate.