Truck Stop

Driving in West Memphis has never been really easy. Although the major truck stops are in a central location, there are several ways in. Most notable are the two major highways, however there are a couple of back roads that can be accessed to attain entry. Coming east on I-40, the driver decided to take the most used route into the truck stop, as he had neither the extra time or the patience to deal with weaving in and out of traffic. As he approached his exit, another truck came zooming past him, weaving in front of him and narrowly missing the front end of the truck by less than a foot. Grabbing the air horn, he gave it a long yank, sending a blast towards the aggressive driver. Receiving a middle finger from the driver window, he snorted, his temper trying to flare. Grabbing his CB microphone, he keyed up.

"Where'd you get your license, from a Cracker Jack box, you steering wheel holding pile of crap?!?!?" he hollered.

Waiting for a response, nothing came back across the CB. Hanging the microphone back up, his thoughts became hateful. Stupid idiot needs to learn to drive, he thought, as he took a right into his favorite stop. Looking down at his fuel gauge, he weighed the option of fueling now, or waiting until he got up the road further. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, he pulled into the fuel island and set the brakes.

Climbing out of the cab, he walked up to the fuel pump and put his information in. The pump beeped twice, indicating it was ready, and he open the fuel cap, inserting the fuel nozzle. Squeezing the handle, fuel began to flow from the nozzle into the tank as he walked around to the passenger side to beginning fueling that side. Nozzle in tank and flowing, he came back to the passenger door, opening it up and grabbing his trash can. The garbage smell wafted briefly across his nose, and he wrinkled it in disgust. Man, I need to wash this can out before it gets worse, he thought, as he emptied the contents into the trash can next to the fuel pump. Placing his trash can back in the truck, he closed the door. Waiting for the pump to click, he slowly looked around.

The truck stop had clearly seen better days, and the owners were talking about remodeling it in the near future. I sure hope they do, he thought. The parking lot ahead of him had a couple of small potholes in it, and the pavement had clearly been there quite a while. The building, while still in good shape, had the usual signs of wear for being there as long as it had, paint chipping and the sidewalk starting to become uneven and slightly gapped in some spots near the trees where the roots had grown under the sidewalk.

The click of the pump brought him back to reality, and topping off the tank, he recapped the spout. Walking around to the driver's side, he then topped off the driver fuel tank, hung up the nozzle, and replaced the fuel cap. Climbing into the truck, he pulled forward, set the brakes again, and went inside to get his receipt.

Retrieving his receipt was now automated, and the kiosk spit out both copies that he had requested. Walking back to the truck, he climbed inside, shut the door, and buckled is seat belt. Releasing the brakes, he pulled away from the fuel island and out the exit.

Getting back the highway meant he had to go back about 3 miles the opposite direction, since I-55 was the route he needed to go north to Illinois. Taking the right hand exit at the split, he motored north. The truck eased back up to operating speed as he rounded the turn and put his foot on the accelerator.

Heading north, he noticed the city fade behind him, leaving the countryside ahead. As he rolled north, the rain began to slow down, leaving just a sprinkle here and there, ceasing altogether shortly after. Driving for another couple of hours, the clouds started to break up, revealing patched areas of clouds mixed with sun. Wincing from the brightness, he brought down his sunshade, effectively reducing the glare into his eyes.

Crossing into Missouri was always fun. The weigh station there had a habit of throwing even the most seasoned drivers off by being open and closed at times that most drivers wouldn't expect. Today, however it was being predictable, the green sign indicating from a distance that it was open and ready to receive trucks and buses. An inward wince from the driver, he sighed and waited for his transponder (a box in his window used for weigh stations) to flash at him, indicating whether to bypass the station or to pull in. Passing under the first transponder, he hoped the second would be nice and give him the intermittent beep of the green signal. Passing under the second transponder, the long steady beep told him that today was not his day. Taking a deep breath, he slowed the truck down, turned on his blinker, and decelerated onto the weigh station ramp.