We spent the holidays surrounded by nontrucking people – which is unusual because we’re usually hanging out with at least one other person who has something to do with the trucking industry. It was wonderful to be with friends and family, but it really made me realize just how completely ingrained the lifestyle has become for us.
You never realize how the vernacular sneaks into your personal speech patterns until you’re around other people who have no idea what you’re talking about. This is doubly bad for George and I, because we’ve been together so long, and there are so many inside jokes between us, it’s sometimes hard to follow along anyway. Couple that with a sprinkling of CB talk, and unaffiliated people sometimes stare at us like we have three heads.
I got in trouble with my Momma because she thought I was talking ugly when I mentioned the lid on her jar of cranberry sauce was on there “tighter than a Russian track suit.”
“I don’t know what that means, dear, but it sounds awful. Don’t say that.”
I felt the need to explain to her it was in reference to some of the Russian drivers who prefer to wear their shiny track suits three sizes too small, but I realized until she’d been to a truck stop in Spokane, she’d never understand.
I also caused the receptionist at the doctor’s office extra work by telling her I had a copy on the information she was giving me. I was completely confused when she disappeared and returned with another physical copy of all the paperwork we just went over.
“It’s the copy you asked for.” “Oh no. I’m sorry, I already have all of this – I meant I understood what you were saying when I said I had a copy on it.”
She nodded her head and gave me the “I’m very busy and you’re annoying” smile and I left quietly, while once again apologizing for speaking in tongues.