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Chimp driving truck but one example of life
on the road
By BILL WHITAKER
When you sit down to lunch next to a guy known on the open
road as "The Instigator," you let him do all the talking.
So it was during opening day festivities at the Flying J Travel
Plaza, which recently set up shop just down the highway from the
famous (and deservedly so) West-T-Go Truck Stop, seemingly prepared
to do battle along this busy stretch of Interstate 20.
That means the toughest customers of all - cross-country truckers
- will be sizing up the Flying J Travel Plaza for the next month
or two. Frankly, they have plenty to consider, too, including
what passes for a screening room, where weary truckers can catch
a movie on a premium cable channel.
Just around the corner: "Rhonda," a perky shoeshine
girl and one-time housewife who's only been in the business seven
months.
"My cousin moved here from Odessa and suggested it,"
Rhonda told me on the first day of business. "She'd been
doing it 15 years and, well, I thought she was crazy when she
suggested I do this. But I kind of like it. You meet a lot of
interesting people."
Most interesting customer so far came when she was working
at a local country dancehall, thus spurring her decision to come
to the Flying J: "This guy was pretty drunk and about 300
pounds. Well, there was this hangman's noose over the chair and
he put it around his neck, then slipped and almost hanged himself.
"I could just imagine the headline in the paper: Shoeshine
woman hangs customer."
SIMPLY SIMIAN
Besides a food bar, the new travel plaza has a huge store offering
magazines, Texana postcards, peanuts, books-on-tape, videos (mostly
John Wayne westerns and Kung-fu flicks), even night shirts (one
of which quips: "You know you're married when your check
bounces more than your bed.")
But when a graying, forty-something, Alabama-based trucker
known by his CB handle as "The Instigator" strolled
in, little of all this - even Rhonda's fair charms - managed to
impress him. When we struck up a chat over lunch, he said this
particular truck joint was better than many, not nearly so memorable
as others.
One thing he was encouraged by here was the lack of "lot
lizards" - and we aren't talking about geckos, either.
Lot lizards are prostitutes who rap on the doors of truckers
in truck stops: "They call them lot lizards because they
come out at night and climb all over your rigs."
But then, it's pretty hard to surprise a trucker. They see
just about everything, especially when they gather at truck stops
or along highway rest areas.
"I remember one time this trucker had a chimpanzee,"
The Instigator told me, in between bites of fried chicken. "Well,
he took that chimp with him everywhere. One time he put the chimp
behind the wheel, just as a joke, and let him drive around the
lot in first gear. It was pretty funny."
NO WAY, NEW YORK
Not so funny, at least to this trucker, is New York. Despite
that state's recent efforts to turn its who-cares image around,
this trucker said he hated the state, particularly New York City.
He said he'd been to New York City three times before vowing never
to return.
On one occasion in The Big Apple, he found his way blocked
by an illegally parked car, impeding his ability to turn at a
corner with narrow streets.
"So this cop comes up, asks me why I'm not moving, and
when I tell him, he tells me to just run over the car," The
Instigator said. "Well, I always do what cops tell me and
I did what that cop told me. And when I looked behind me after
running over it, I saw the cop writing the poor guy a ticket."
Best state for getting into high gear: Louisiana, whose troopers
have other problems to handle.
Worst state for highway troopers: Ohio.
Most picturesque stretch: The area around Seattle.
Favorite waitress: He didn't recall her name, but it was something
like "Flo," from a place called Bubba's in South Carolina.
Considering how we were both lapping up the food, I decided
to ask where the cross-country trucker had had his best meal.
"That's easy," he said, just before getting up to
continue his long and tedious haul across the arid Southwest to
California. "My mom has the best cooking.
"Besides," he said, almost wistfully, "when
I'm there, it means I'm at the end of the road."
Bill Whitaker's favorite T-shirt at the Flying J Travel Plaza
read: "Hold my beer while I kiss your girlfriend!" If
you'd like to get a hold of Bill personally, call 670-5293, ext.
325.
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Copyright ©1996 or
1997, Abilene Reporter-News / Texnews / E.W. Scripps. Publications
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