Sometimes I Wonder Where I've Been

To hell and back? Sometimes I even wonder myself how I got here in the first place.

I have always joked, in a cruel manner I’ll admit, that my father was a man who never went over the hill; he fell down a cliff. I’ve seen certain period pictures of the man from his early twenties and then mid to late twenties and nature wasn’t kind. That never took away from the man’s personality or sense of humor. I can easily say to this day those two qualities about him are as lively as ever. But as I look at this I remember looking at myself years ago and wonder if that was my fate too; I was going to fall down that cliff. My personality wasn’t nearly as happy go lucky as my dads. On the contrary, I was mean spirited, nasty, and down right vengeful at times. My attitude made friends around me run for the door and never allow me the chance to go to bed with any of my muses. Yes, damn it; I’m still sore about that.

Yes I have aged and I would like to say aged quite well. I still have my hair, it’s getting to be white, but I still have hair and you can always dye that, but other things, physically, I just shake my head. But this is not how I’ve aged physically, rather, it’s how I’ve aged personality wise and mentally and really, where I’ve been.

Everyone has always heard the following phrase from their parents, “Don’t touch that, you don’t know where it’s been,” right? Well, that can pertain to me because sometimes I don’t know where I’ve really been. Currently, being a truck driver, there are places I’ve been I really don’t like to mention in mixed company and really would rather think it no longer exists. Some of the most unsavory places you are sent that you don’t ever want to go back; most of them are in the New York City area (These places are quite infamous in one way or another). ::Coughs ‘Hunts Point’:: But moreover, the truck stops I have had the misfortune to turn my nose up upon and some of the people who ensconce their hallowed walls. I don’t really like to name names here, mainly because I don’t remember all the details, but there are some areas on the American map that I would like people to avoid as much as possible. (Points at Hunt’s Point for an example.) Please, I must run the red light and possible run into oncoming traffic just so malicious cum shots try to steal my haul? And we aren’t allowed to pack a gun in our trucks, why? If I’m not allowed to have a firearm of my choice don’t ever send me there again! Well, that company didn’t; instead they sent me somewhere on Manhattan. Oh, that went over well!

Ontario, California as a couple of truck stops opposite each other at the same exit, both of the same brands and I’ve stayed at both of them. I believe in my heart of hearts that one of those stops really deserves to be bombed from orbit. I tried to give the place the benefit of the doubt and only hoped for a dry enema but that will not clean it up; it must be wiped off the map. There are other truck stops that have been questionable but this one needs a serious…something to be done to them. And while I’m at it, seriously some of you drivers are just fucking children after I go into a restroom, not only at a truck stop but at a rest area? What are you, like seven? And don’t get me started with the foreign fucktards who decide to answer their cell phone while either in the process of using their stall or the urinal. I really cannot believe that the person on the other side really wants to listen to you have a bowel movement. But then again, judging by the kind of person that you are I should not be surprised that your friends are just as bad, if not, worse than you. Please don’t get me wrong, most professional drivers are calm, courteous, rational human beings who are just trying to make a living out there and provide for themselves, their family, and their friends and are usually the best drivers on the road, it’s just these primitive Neanderthals (and I don’t give that term as a compliment here) who think they have this personal “entitlement” and mess with things as much as they can, like showing their artistry or writing how they’ve mastered the English languages or posting phone numbers of friends they want to share. I really want to slap them in the face with a trout then shove it up their ass so they can feel first hand as what happens when piss off the American dream and it has made it the worlds business. They really don’t want that attention.

I have been to all major American cities with the exception of Honolulu and Anchorage. I plan to, someday, visit the states these cities dwell in before my race decides to blow the planet up. Maybe, someday, I’ll get the chance to go to the American Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico, and Guam; that would be sweet. The entire lower forty-eight, however, I’ve seen; the good and the bad. I’ve also visited five Canadian provinces, which tends to be rare since most Michiganders only go to Ontario. I’m sure I’m not missing much with the provinces of the plains, I have yet to wander onto Newfoundland or take an afternoon to view Prince Edward Island, but I have this strange feeling I’ll see the Yukon before all that.

And then there’s England back in 1992. Now I’ll say this for the land who still calls us the colonies, at least they speak English; well, their form of English and don’t have jack offs who decided that they don’t want to speak English and believe their language needs to be intergraded into the country landscape. Still, I cam across some real winners back then but not bad enough to enjoy my week long stay in the country, be in attendance for “A Concert for Life” at Wembly Stadium and catch an Arsenal match, so it was all good.
So, in a really long way, that’s where this tired body has been and I feel I’m not done yet, just have to figure out the how and why to accomplish that goal and yeah, both Dad and I fell down a cliff but we both stood up, brushed off the dirt and kept walking.

H.R. Green, 12th of October, 2009, 11:21 a.m. Burtchville, MI