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 * nock, knock*
After dropping a loaded trailer at my company's drop yard in Girard, I was lounging in the bunk and chatting with ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) welfy on-line. When I heard the knocking, I assumed it was one of the other drivers in the yard; maybe they needed a couple of spare trip envelopes or help sliding trailer tandems and saw the light inside my cab. My truck has crank handles on the windows, and I'm typically too lazy to bother with them, so I popped the driver-side door open to see what they needed. A woman hopped onto the side-board to greet me.
"Can I sit inside for a minute? It's really cold out here. I'm a sweetheart, you don't have to worry about me."
I already knew where this was going, but it wasn't the typical opening. She was in her late-30s/early-40s with a slim build. Even in the dim light of the cab, I could see her face had the weathered look of someone who's had a hard-knock life so far. She wasn't dirty or unkempt, and her clothes were in good shape, but she looked tough, like sun-dried leather. I was standing on the other side of the seat. I stuck my knee into the seat and leaned forward.
"I'm getting ready to go to bed, hon. I can't let you in."
She asked again, sticking with the "it's cold" and "I'm a nice girl" routine. When I refused again, the story changed.
"I ran out of gas and need some money."
That's how it usually opens. I gave my usual reply that I didn't have any cash on me, that I don't carry it and just use my bank card while I'm on the road. Of course, she volleyed with the typical response.
"What about change? Anything?"
I conceded and scraped the silver from the inside of my pocket and handed it to her.
"You got a cigarette?"
I thought I could at least give the girl a smoke before sending her on her way. I glanced at the dash but the box of cigarettes weren't there. I had left them in the bunk where I had been resting. I told her I'd give her a cigarette, and removed my knee from the seat and turned toward the bunk. I just needed to take a step back there to grab the smokes. On my way to the bunk I heard her say, "I just want to warm-up for a second."
Great.
Cigarettes in hand I turned to find her sitting in the driver seat. I pulled one from the pack.
"I really am a sweetheart. Look at these, nice body and everything."
She was referring to her breasts, as she had pulled her T-shirt up to reveal them stuffed into a black bra. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a nice rack.
"I'm not interested," I replied. She lowered her shirt and I handed her the cigarette.
"I really could use $20. Maybe we can work something out?"
I told her again I wasn't interested and handed her my lighter. She lit the cigarette and handed it back.
"You don't have a change jar or anything?"
I told her that I needed for her to leave. She reluctantly pulled the door handle and exited the truck, back into the cold, rainy night. | |
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 ravel Centers of America is one of the oldest truckstop chains in the country. A lot of their facilities are remnants of a by-gone era when truckers used to require accomodations, before sleeper berths became standard on road tractors. The TA in Buttonwillow is a good example of this; you can see the older part of the building with its second level and the newer addition which has been added to it. Like many of these older buildings, the old motel section of the truckstop has been converted into shower rooms.
It appears, though, that Buttonwillow has found another use for at least one of the old rooms.
That's right, after a hard (wink,wink) day on the road you can release (nudge,nudge) that tension with an authentic Chinese (wink) Massage (nudge). | |
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