Strange things and filthy lies

December 2018/January 2019

Wendy Parker


Restroom etiquette and lies about lizard people and magic clocks

The road can be a wild and wonderful place. It’s like the internet come true, only with fewer cats and more “nekkid as hell” characters, most of which have no business being publicly nekkid as hell. Today’s crazy world may have satire taking a last, gasping breath, but there remain notable and mentionable strange things. Of course, you can’t serve up an order of strange things without at least fair warning of the possibility of filthy lies. For legal purposes, and all.


Does anyone really know what time it is? According to Dewey McSofthead, ardent oppositionist of all things time-related, “It don’t matter none, cause lizard people don’t have watches.” Is Dewey crazy as hell, or does he have a valid point in a roundabout way?

We’ll delve into that nest of filthy lies right after this important public service announcement from Dixie Wilson. Dixie works for one of the big three truck stops as a restroom/shower attendant. She’s seen things. Terrible things. And she’s speaking out about the strange things people think pass for acceptable bathroom habits.

Her genuine concern for the decline of human civilization compelled Dixie to reach out to STFL. She offers these words of wisdom on using receptacles properly. “You ain’t building a toilet-paper nest for yourself, and if you are, reassess your life choices, friend. Sit down on the toilet, void, wipe, flush. It ain’t rocket science.”

Although not of the rocket variety, there is definitely science involved. Dixie has a message for the ladies-room “hoverers” out there. “OK, Lolly McClean-freak, here’s what happens when you hover over a clean toilet seat. You make it dirty. You’re the problem. Sit your rear-end down or clean the overspray off the seat when you’re done, Old Faithful.”

Men’s room etiquette involves much of the same. “Boys, there’s a sink, a urinal, and a toilet. They’re placed in order as you walk into the bathroom, so you can remember to start at the top. One’s for your hands, the other is for your stands, and the third is to sit, when you take a…well, I ain’t gonna be crude, this here’s a family place. But I think it’s implied as to what goes in the toilet in the men’s room.”

Dixie’s final thoughts on things of the restroom-related come from years of truck-stop insider experience. “Look, honey, if you’re doing anything other than what I’ve mentioned above in a public restroom stall, you need to quit it. Truck stops are a business. They provide travelers a place to ‘do their business,’ because it’s good business. Don’t give the lowest wage earner on the totem pole the business by carrying on with freak business where it has no business.”

Sage advice and words to live by on the road. Strange things adjourned.

On to filthy lies.

Let’s face it. The magical clock mandate of 2017 was a filthy lie in itself. Safety advocates sold it as the best thing since iron bars and cell blocks to keep evil truckers from doing dastardly deeds. A year later it appears forced-implementation has proven to be more detrimental than beneficial, both to safety and the general atmosphere in the industry.

Hate to say, “We told ya so,” but y’all, “We told ya so.”

The magical clocks aren’t new, kids. They’ve been around for a long time. And they aren’t a safety device, they’re a billing option/time management tool to track productivity and maximize profits.

And it was a nifty idea on paper, but the folks writing it down only used one color-crayon and never once considered that trucking consists of the Ultimate Crayon Caddy. The folks making laws don’t have enough lines in their college-ruled notebooks to write down all the exemptions and rigamarole necessary, but they expect law enforcement to have their crap together enough to enforce this hot mess.

Speaking of hot mess, as appealing as being a rebel might be to pretty much every truck driver I’ve ever known personally, remaining lawful is always recommended. Don’t be Dewey McSofthead.

You know Dewey. He lurks in the jungles of CB Rambo-infested highways. He randomly shouts out, “I ain’t runnin no clock, ya’ bastards, who’s gonna make me?”

Occasionally, someone with sense (or lack thereof), will respond, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the law, but that’s not really the point of having laws, is it?”

(Side note: This is a grave error in judgement, as it gives Dewey an opportunity to disrespect your mom, or if he’s really good, disrespect your mom and espouse some weird ideological belief in one key-in.)

“Your mom’s got a point. On her head! Don’t matter none, lizard people don’t have watches and they run everything from the center of Mount Rainier, come on.”

(Don’t bother pointing out that lizard people aren’t real. Just leave it alone. Don’t do it.)

“Uh, lizard people aren’t real, driver. Get some sleep and have a safe drive.”

(I told ya’ not to do it.)

Dewey McSofthead will always come back for the final word, no matter the level of stupid necessary.

“Well that just proves I’m right about not running a clock. If they ain’t real, they can’t have watches can they? You go on and be a sheeple, driver, I’m woke as hell and traveling on!”

This is where medical experts recommend turning off the CB, because brain damage is imminent and well-deserved if you continue to engage with Dewey McSofthead.

You’ve been warned.

Silver lining alert: The magical clock mandate has forced FMCSA to take a look at the real problem, which is flexibility in the hours of service. Personal conveyance has been clarified. These are good things. And they’re not filthy lies. LL