| Written by Ed Lamaze,
on 06-04-2008
|
Views : 793  |
 Whew! My ass is tired. Literally. My ass. No, I'm not getting over a bout of the stomach flu, I haven't had it kicked (lately) and to the best of my recollection, I have not logged any meaningful prison time lately. I have however, just completed my fourth driving trip across the country in as many weeks. I've a newfound respect for the six way adjustable seat and truck stop coffee. Seriously, what is in that tar? Ever wonder why these big rigs come barreling down on you literally pushing your car forward with the tsunami-like winds they are inducing only to watch them pull off at the very next exit you pass? It's the coffee. They're all hopped up on truck stop tar and are jonesing for the next quick fix. The buzz is only good for a few hundred miles and when it wears off--watch out. Don't get between a trucker and his vices. I'm just saying.
I'm a cream and sugar kind of guy. I know, a pansy in the real world of
java whores but I can take it black if necessary. Only if it's
absolutely necessary. I mean, I've had it black. I just prefer a nice
caramel/tan color with an overwhelming hint of sugary sweetness. Black
is fine, if you like it that way. I'm not knocking it. I just have
other tastes, that's all. Think of it as a high maintenance coffee
drinker. Just give me the cream and sugar, please.
So the first cup I pour myself at Rex's Truck Plaza and Roadside Jo. I
say pour. I may have over-characterized that. It was a little bit more
like watching sludge ooze over the sides of a trash bin. I could have
passed but I needed the boost. Ever the optimist I thought to myself, a
little bit of cream and sugar and that will tan right up. It'll be
fine.
Battleship gray. That's as far as I could get it. No matter how much I added it never tanned up. Oh well.
Three and a half hours and two hundred fifty miles later the buzz left
me and I became a maniacal beast passing cars left and right, on the
shoulder and in the median looking for my next fix. The buzz was good.
Damn good. I needed more. "Get the hell out of my way, you freaking
snails! I need some tar!" I was sweating from every pore, a dark tinged
stale coffee smelling sweat and I developed a twitch. I sought out
truck stop after truck stop with the fervor of a bloodhound. The miles
behind me, all four thousand of them, became a blur of passed cars and
trucks. I lost track of time. I lost track of place. My only thought
was the tar. I needed the tar. I was officially hooked.
I'm home now and my coffee is once again caramel/tan and sugary sweet.
But the road is calling. Taunting. And Rex's words echo in my brain.
"You gotta try our Jo. It's good to the last bite."
I'm getting help.
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