Big Joe, Certified Nutcase

Well, just the other day, after a long day of thumb-ridin' (don't ask) come along an old Mack Truck driven by, well, shall we say, a big man, at least 6' and 220 pounds if he was an ounce. Although, in many respects, he strongly resembled a corpse, we rode along and talked awhile. Well, "Big Joe", as he strangely asked me to call him, was chock full of stories of the good old days, all of which, kinda curiously, ended about 10 years ago with the story of a horrific tractor trailer crash.

Whenever I'd try to get around to discussin' other topics, he would dismiss me and come back to talkin' about the crash. He was all like "Well, no, I am not familiar with 'I Want to Be a Hilton', but, as I was saying, just up ahead, where this terrible crash involving a truck just like this, on a night just like this, where the driver swerved to avoid a busload of kids..."

I was thinking, Yeah right, Big Joe. I ain't heard tell of no busload of kids driving around in the middle of the night, less they was on one of them retard buses. By the way, Joe, you really, really need to look into some of that whatyoucallit "derm abrasion". You look like the living dead, Mister. And could you turn up the heat in this cab? It's freezing in here.

Anyway, Big Joe must taken tired of me, since he up and demanded I get off about a half mile away from a truck stop ahead, saying "This is as far as I go", all cryptic-like.

"Uh, sure thing, Joe, but are you sure you can't just drop me off at that truck stop? It's kind of dark out there..."

"No!" he shouted. "This is a far as I go! This is it! The end!"

"Well, I'm just sayin', is all," I said.

Then, a hellish glint appeared in his eyes, as if he were summoning some type of dark magical forces.

"Begone!" he cried. "I have had enough of thee!"

I flew from the cab as if propelled by sorcery of some such. I landed on the side of the road, but was curiously unhurt. My travelin' bag landed beside me.

"My Travelin' Bag!" I said, kind of because I didn't know what else to say.

"Here's a dime. Buy yourself a cup of coffee, and tell them 'Big Joe sent yah!" he cackled, as he flipped a coin out the open door, then turned that big Mack around and disappeared into the night.

Wow, a whole dime. What kind of dog dirt-tasting coffee costs a dime? Thanks, Rockefeller.

"Screw you, you ugly bastard!" I called out after him, my fist raised in anger.

As I walked the half-mile or so to the truck stop, I tried to imagine what kind of head case would be out picking up hitchers in the middle of the night, then ejecting them from his cab with what seems like magic. Man, this creep could have totally killed me. And what about his weird obsession with that accident. It's almost as if...

Nah. Couldn't be.

Well, about that time I made it to the truck stop, and I was plum tuckered out. I was ready to drink just about anything, including some terrible coffee that only cost 10 cents. "Fresh cup of joe, Sally!" I cried to a waitress who may or may not have been named Sally. "Big Joe told me it's the best around."

The formerly bustling cafe ground to a halt.

"Did you say 'Big Joe'?" a burned-out looking geezer sitting at the counter said to me.

"Yeah, old-timer. Some crazy gear-jammer dropped me off about a half mile back, threw me a dime, told me to buy some coffee with it, and to tell you people 'Big Joe' sent me. Well, I'm tellin' yah. I figured it was some kind of discount program for truckers or the like," I lied a bit, trying to stretch that dime into a bottomless cup of liquid energy, and possibly a sympathy fried egg or two.

"Well, Big Joe died ten years ago, on a night just like tonight, just over that hill. See, he locked up his big ol' Mack truck tryin' to avoid a busload of kids..." sputtered the old timer.

I cut him off. "Shut it, Gramps! Can't you see I'm trying to order! Sally, how about a cup of mud for a weary traveler!"

I really needed that cup of joe to justify the shakin' in my lower quarters.


Don't Always Believe What You Hear on the Citizen's Band.