Why I Hate Truckers: A True Story

I was over at Sgt.'s blog where I was reminded of a story that I don't tell often. Mostly because it's so bizarre and some because I did spend 4 years in Los Angeles (if you don't know what I mean, I can't explain it). So here goes...

Around 1999 I was traveling south towards Waco, TX on Interstate 35 to visit a friend that was coaching at Baylor. I have done a lot of road tripping in my day, and so my father bought me a revolver for my 24th birthday. I grew up around guns, and we were always taught to be responsible. So, my uncle the cop took me to the shooting range to get me ready to get my license to carry. I passed my test with flying colors after the instruction phase. So, I since I was hitting the highway alone, I took my gun (not loaded, mind you...bullets were in glove box) and threw it in my purse (which many felt was more of an overnight bag than a lady's purse). On one of my gas stops, I pulled into a truck stop and decided to grab a bite to eat at the Stuckey's diner. After I finished eating, I went to the cashier to pay, and in the process of digging for my wallet, my gun fell out on the counter. The cashier immediately took a huge step back and kind of went into a semi-duck. All eyes in the place turned to stare at me. After a nervous laugh, I picked the gun up and returned it to my purse. I said, "Hey guys, I'm traveling and have no intention of robbing or shooting anyone. The bullets are in the glove box in the car..hehe..hehehe." I paid quickly, leaving about a $8 tip for a $12 lunch because I didn't wait for the change, and hopped in the car like a bat out of hell. After about 10 minutes down the road, I started to reflect on the " incident" and started laughing. About 2 minutes later, a Texas Highway Patrol car was behind me flashing lights and saying over the megaphone thingy to pull to the side, please. Yes, even the police are friendly in Texas. Glancing at my speed, I knew I wasn't being pulled over for speeding, which is the only reason I ever get pulled over. So, I pulled over and put the car in park. As I was leaning over to get my insurance and registration info, I hear the megaphone thingy say, "Please exit the vehicle with your hands where I can see them. " At first I thought there must have been hashish in the BLT I had for lunch. Huh? So I slowly opened the car door with my hands up. The megaphone thingy then said I needed to walk to the back of the car very slowly. I did so. At this point, I see there are two HiPos with their guns drawn yelling at me to stay where I was, so I was sweating like a whore in church. I was then told to turn around with my hands on top of my head. One of the HiPos came over to me while his partner "covered" me with his weapon. I actually got PATTED down! By this time, I'm crying and becoming hysterical. The patter downer asked me if I had a weapon in the car. I said, "Yes, officer, I do. It is in my purse with my wallet where you will find my permit to carry in this state...sir. " I watched him get my purse, pull out my wallet, my gun, and empty the rest on my car seat. Then he searches my entire vehicle. Now I'm all for being safe, but I definitely don't A) look dangerous and B) look like a drug runner. Finally, they have me sit in the backseat of the first cruiser while they run all of my information. I'm visibly shaken at this point, and I actually need to exit the car to throw up. After everything checks out, they apologize and explain that they had several reports from the Stuckey's up the road that there was a gun-toting crazy "chick" on the loose. They were kind enough to give me one of those wet nap things and a drink of water from a thermos. Fucking truckers have some nerve is all I can say. Mr. HiPo 1 then gives me the gun safety lecture and tells me that they did not mean to scare me, but they have to take precautions in such situations. I assure him that I am a completely responsible gun owner and only take it on my person when traveling alone, as I was that day. After offering them both further assurances that I would leave it in the car for my next stop, they let me be on my way. I sat there for about 20 more minutes collecting myself. What the hell? What if one of them had an itchy trigger finger?

And that, my friends, was my 2nd brush with the law and by far the scariest. That's why I really hate fucking truckers. Some of the perviest assholes on the road, but I'm the "Crazy Gun-Toting Chick" at the Stuckey's? To this day, I still travel with my gun on extended trips, but I never carry it in my purse, nor do I eat at Stuckey's. They've lost my business for life. No need in coming across a pimply-faced rookie cop with a shaky hand who sneezes and sprays me with a round, right?

*This is a prime example of why I do not blog with my given name. Who the hell would ever believe this shit but people who could have me fired?