It’s 8:45, in the evening, and the Allied Van Lines truck driver has gotten himself unstuck, and made his turn,in the parking lot. For about, an hour or so, the Werner truck, to my left, finally got backed in, after chaining his drive tires.
I’m sitting in my truck and having a beer. It is a fine micro-brew of local origins, imitating a brown English beer . It’s not like there is any real danger of me drinking and driving. Hell, I’m trapped in a snow drift.
I know there is a company rule against this, and these days, I am most likely, in violation of some law. I can remember life before, the neurotic, hand wringing, ninnying, world of big brother took over. Therefore, I do not care.
The C. R. England truck, that sat beside me, for two days, escaped the snow drift. All day he worked his truck back and forth, until he made a rut to drive out.
Yesterday morning I helped him get is truck started. What the heck, it was Christmas, and I showed a little kindness to a rookie driver. Got out, before day light, helped him out with some jumper cables, and some ether. The wind blown ice was like small knives cutting in the eyes.
I’m glad he made it out. He is headed east, and the roads are open past Omaha.
The past two days, I have watched, the more ambitious, go into the truck stop, and barrow the snow shovel. Young men, of good physical constitution, would work for minutes, and then, return the snow shovel. I laughed, this afternoon, when a middle aged, portly fellow, returned the snow shovel, no sooner than, he had walked out with it.
Yesterday, I dutifully, moved the truck, fore and aft, until it broke free of the ice. Since then, the snowdrift, has moved ever closer in. The snow has piled in between the drive axles, once again.
The beer has ran out, and the last song, about snow, has played. Here I sit, as I was, trapped in the snowdrift. The highway is closed to the west, and here, I must, take my rest.
