TRUCK DRIVERS ARE IDIOTS PART 582: THE STUPID QUESTIONS

Stupid questions are part of my everyday dose of bullshit that is the truck driver.

Many of these drivers are stuck in their truck for hours, and when they get in front of you, all they want to do is talk. Here’s a hint: Shut the hell up. You’re late, your refrigeration unit isn’t even on, you don’t have your pickup number and you smell worse than dooky. I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t want to hear your life’s story.

I have compiled a list either stupid questions, or questions that they ask. I have also included commentary.

How much do these pallets weigh? – This is the prototypical question each driver asks when I see them. I have actually toyed with the idea of putting the weights on a huge sign on the wall, and I would, if I thought the vast majority of them could read.

How high are these pallets? – If the pallets were too high, we wouldn’t be able to put them on your truck. How high are YOU?

Do the berries only come in once a year? – No. Berries are part of a magical crop of fruit that grows year round in the same places, during the both the warmest and the coldest months of the year. Berries grow in heat. Berries grow in snow. Berries grow under water. Berries grow everywhere. Berries grow in the ground. Berries grow in the sea. Berries grow in rock. If you wiped your butt once and a while you might find a berry or two there as well. Nimrod.

So, what do you do after this season is over? – Uh, what do you care? You don’t know me. It doesn’t matter what I do. Whatever it is I’ll do, I’ll be doing it as far away from you as possible, if I can help it.

So you follow the berries all around the world? – Yes, I am like a mix of James Bond and Berry Stalker. I follow them globally, from Florida to Istanbul. I follow berries to exotic regions where they don’t even grow berries. I follow the berries home from work. I follow the berries home from school. I follow the berries home from when they go to the store. I peer at the berries through the windows of their homes. I read the berries’ mail. I sneak into the berries’ bedrooms when they are in the shower and write sick things in lipstick on their bedroom mirrors. Again, why do you care?

How long have you been doing this job? – It’s been about 5 years, but after talking to you it feels like 12.

Do you know the address where I am going? Or, do you know when my delivery appointment is? – Never fails to get to me. The address and appointment time is on the Bill of Lading that you are holding in your wretched hand, you moron.

How much is my broker getting for this load? – Do I look like your broker? If I do, shoot me.

Is there any way I can haul for your company without going through a broker? – Absolutely not. To do that, you would have to manage yourself as a professional business. And that is not possible. You smell bad and you look like a hobo.

How do they pick these berries? – The same way you pick your butt, by hand. The difference between you and them is that they wash their hands before and after the picking.

How long do berries stay good in the refrigerator? – Do I look like your wife? Your mother? The Produce Answer Man? They stay good until they are bad. If you eat them and you die, they’re no good. Bon appitite, jackass.

How do I get to your farm? – I love this one. This one is asked when they call me on the phone. They just naturally expect that I know exactly where they are when they call me. Like I have a GPS on the phone that gives the exact location of where they are calling from and have instant access to driving directions to get them here. I usually have to ask “Where are you right now?” and most of the time, they really don’t know.

So where do you live? – Right now, in Hell. Because I have to talk to you.

Want to hear a story? – No. As I mentioned earlier, you’re late, your refrigeration unit isn’t even on, you don’t have your pickup number and you smell worse than dooky. I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t want to hear a story.

One of these days…