"Big truck...big truck...there you are"

(This one is for my friends, Elvis and Koehler......)

I'm rolling down the road.

I'm not driving a 16,000 lb ambulance. I'm driving my "compact" station wagon. I'm on my way home from work, not on my way to a call.

Big truck, big truck, there you are...

I see you. I rely on you. You move the way a professional (like me) should. You see ahead by 1/2 a mile and move your lane to make your exit.

I see that.

I drop back to let you in.

I know. I'm just a "four-wheeler." I'm part of the problem.

Last week, it was a "four-wheeler" who put herself between you and safety. You put on your brakes and grabbed that wheel like it was the end of the world.

You were in the berm. Soft grass and a gentle shoulder saved you. (along with your seatbelt).

The "four wheeler" had no idea of the chaos she caused with her thoughtlessness. I'm sure she/he was on the phone/checking email/texting. It doesn't matter. The end result is the same.

You, who's income is affected by your safety record, are in a ditch. You did that to save someone's life.

The driver of the "four wheeler?" She (he) had no idea. He did not even hang up the phone.

I check you out. YOU know you're ok. But I do my job (Heart rate, Blood Pressure, Breathing effort and a good sense of "what's wrong"). Your beloved rig is on its side next to the highway and there are things broken beyond what you and I can fix.

Yeah, You're OK. Shaken, angry and ready for a loooooooonnnngggg vacation but, to me, you're OK.

48 hours later, I'm driving my little station wagon home from work....

"...Big Truck, big truck...there you are...."

Yes, you can come into my lane.

Yes, I'll slow down to let you pass.

Yes, I'm not a "big truck" driver, but, somehow...I understand.

My car has four wheels but I'll never want to be a "four-wheeler."

"big truck....big truck....there you are...."

--maddog