My daily commute takes almost 3 hours by transit—my choice. For being heavy-duty, buses react when drivers floor it. They’re driving pros.
And I hardly notice the ride. I’m in the zone: read email, read enews, transfer, read eBook, transfer, answer email, reach destination, repeat. That is my routine until it’s interrupted.
The subject of this post is about a storyteller we’ll call ‘Con’. Con and his two buddies were on their way to test drive a long-haul truck. (Oh, the irony of travelling to a truck stop by city bus.) Concentration broken. I’m just another set of ears in his three-way conversation. How Con was going to afford the truck was called into question. He admitted being unable to save whether he made minimum wage or six figures. Details followed about stints selling real estate, flipping burgers and machining parts. Broke by payday, Con & buddies concurred—hand paycheque to wife and all’s good but I digress…
Over the engine noise, Con dismissed automatic transmissions—the model they would be test driving—as boring. But more important, there’s only one way to know if an automatic rig could make it up the Coquihalla Summit. Drive it like you stole it said the storyteller. Did the professional driving trio have some familiarity with grand theft auto? Their tale unfolded as a pleasant interruption from War and Peace.