Move that Truck

posted on Jun 24 by Linda Beck in the Guest Authors, Linda Beck category

Just like most little communities in North Carolina, Woodleaf has a volunteer fire department, post office, an auto repair shop, several in-home beauty shops (only one of these would NOT be enough for us older ladies), and one gas station with mini-grocery store and restaurant.

Woodleaf is a farming community where a lot of tomatoes and strawberries are raised and marketed both locally and long distances. The BP, as the restaurant is called, always has been a place where retired guys hang out and workers come in for breakfast and lunch. The air has always hung heavy with cigarette or cigar smoke. After my husband and I finally quit smoking in 1989, we seldom ate there. Sometimes in the past eight years since I had the multiple sclerosis exacerbation and moved back to Woodleaf, friends and family have brought breakfast out to me from the BP; that is my favorite meal of the day!

Well, now that there is a no-smoking law in public places and I have the handicapped conversion van I can go back there like we did when my grandsons were little guys (both being nearly 5’10”tall now.)”

So for the first time in several years, I met my daughter and oldest grandson at the BP for breakfast. We both needed gas so they filled my tank. To one side of the establishment there is a retaining wall and there are parallel parking spaces. They were all empty when I went in and I was confident I would not get blocked in there because traffic flows in and out just to the right of where I parked.

It was so nice to sit there without all that smoke and we enjoyed our breakfast.

As I started out, I saw the beer distributing truck blocked parallel to me and I knew I would not be able to get the ramp down and get my scooter in position.

He was pushing several cases of beer in as I went out the door. I said, “Sir, how long will you be here? You have blocked me in.” He said he thought he had allowed enough room for me to get in and he would move it shortly.

Once again, I guess I wasted $20 for the sign I had put on the window on the passenger side: “Ramp Van, Allow 8’ for clearance.” The only way I would have had room to get in would have been if I were an able-bodied passenger. The driver’s door was blocked against the retaining wall. As I sat waiting, I though about the audience on the TV show, “Extreme Makeover,” when they scream, “MOVE THAT TRUCK!” I was tempted but I just prayed for patience. Then I laughed when I remembered back when I was a 4-H volunteer leader; my assistant leader and I were talking one day when some parents had not returned our calls. I had said, “We need to pray for patience!” She said, “Okay… Father God, we need some patience and we need it right now.” I couldn’t help but smile when the driver came back and realized what a mistake he had made. He moved the truck, offered to help me and we both went our separate ways.

I ran two other errands and went to the once-a-month meeting that I had organized for volunteers to help recycle cards for our soldiers in Iraq. Then several of us went to lunch in Salisbury. I had only recently tried the Honey-baked Ham Restaurant after years of passing by and it had been so good, I convinced the other ladies to go there. It is operated by a man from Egypt. He had been extremely nice and allowed me to sample the ham salad. It was so good that I had bought some home; so now it’s time for me to head to the kitchen to fill my tummy with a late-night snack. At least here, I won’t have to ask anyone to “Move that truck.”