The fly had been trapped in the cab with me all night.
I rarely lowered my windows when parked, mostly because of insects and curious beggars (or worse) who might poke their heads or fingers inside (or worse). This fly had come in through a crack in the window I’d left because it had been 85 degrees the previous night.
Now he was still here, while I waited at the distribution center of one of those dollar stores you see everywhere in 21st century America.
Part memoir, part tall tale and second-hand story, part instructional manual: Chris DeBrie’s “Check Your Tandems” is the fictionalized account a truck driver as he moves from newbie “greenhorn” to seasoned professional.
I tried for fifteen minutes to brush him out the window with a manila folder. He would get right next to the opening, then u-turn and disappear where I couldn’t see him for another ten minutes.
I opened the driver’s door. He lit on the power window switch several times, then when I’d swat at him, he came right back inside.
Finally I got my air freshener spray and tried to soak him. He swerved but the mist was wide. The fly dropped in flight, and then flew directly at me. “What?…”
I kept the freshener button depressed and really poured it onto him. He dropped a bit more, then flew toward my face again. I gritted my teeth.
This was like a bad comedy. I was going to tear this truck into pieces over an insect!
Just as I was about to scream, the fly suddenly turned and went out the door. I slammed, locked and sealed it all.
Let me sweat to death. I couldn’t take the bugs anymore.
>Why can’t I slide my tandems here?