Keep On Truckin' -- Somewhere Else

By Rick Horowitz

Calm? Of course I'm calm. Why shouldn't I be calm?

I mean, there's no place a person feels more at ease, more secure, than right in the bosom of his very own home. You've got familiar things in familiar places, and the warmth that comes from knowing that within these four walls, you're perfectly safe and sound, even if there is a Ryder truck parked right outside.

A large Ryder truck.

Just sitting there.

This large Ryder truck has been just sitting there -- in the alley right next to my house, directly under my bedroom window -- for two days now. It spent the night somewhere else, but it was back at the crack of dawn, right where it had been. In fact, it was the "beep-beep-beep" of its backup gear that woke me; there it was, rolling into position again not 30 feet from my pillow.

You want your large Ryder truck to "beep-beep-beep" when it backs up. After all, you wouldn't your large Ryder truck to hurt anyone, right?

I think it was the "beep-beep-beep" that woke me. That or the radio, which came on at the very same moment with the latest news about another Ryder truck, and a certain charred and twisted Ryder truck axle. Of course, the "beep-beep-beep" from the Ryder truck right outside my window was so loud it was hard to hear the latest news about the charred and twisted axle from the other Ryder truck. But I'm pretty sure I got the gist of it.

"So, what do you think about the federal government?"

I've never seen these people before in my life; that may not be the best way to get the conversation going. One man, one woman -- a couple. They look pleasant enough. Maybe they've simply rented the Ryder truck because they're moving into one of the apartments next door. Maybe they've rented the Ryder truck because they're moving out of one of the apartments next door. Or maybe they've got other plans.

"Boy, that Waco was really something, wasn't it?"

I don't say that either. (There's an etiquette to this kind of thing.) But I do find an excuse for a quick trip outdoors, into the alley. I notice the Florida plates -- highly significant, I'm sure, though I have no idea why. And I notice all the different slogans stenciled all over the Ryder truck.

"We're There When You Need Us."

"Most Comfortable Drive."

"Automatic Transmission."

"AM/FM Radio."

It could be a code.

They've got the back of the Ryder truck open (finally!), and the ramp is deployed; I sneak a peek inside when nobody's looking. I see couch cushions and cardboard boxes. I see furniture and shirts -- shirts still hanging on their hangers.

I don't see any timing devices or blasting caps. Then again, I wouldn't recognize a timing device or a blasting cap if I fell over one. I don't see any plastic barrels filled with explosives either, but you never know; they could be hiding right behind the couch cushions.

"Hi! I'm Rick -- are you guys domestic terrorists?"

I don't say that either. I've never actually dealt with domestic terrorists before; they might get annoyed if I asked them about it, even if that's exactly what they are. Besides, I'm not sure it's the kind of thing they'd admit to strangers, even strangers living right across the alley.

Of course, if they aren't domestic terrorists and I ask them about it, they might get annoyed, too. They might get so annoyed that they decide to become domestic terrorists, just out of spite.

Couldn't they have rented a U-Haul?

5/1/97

©1997 Rick Horowitz. All rights reserved.