H had this red GMC truck that we bought from one of his co-workers about a million years ago. It was over 20 years old. After me (!!), it was the love of is life. I think I only drove it once or twice…it really was H’s ride. It had a manual transmission…I think that is why H liked it so much. It was simple and easy to maneuver. Plus, I think he felt really AMERICAN in that thing. Our dogs used to go crazy when they would hear the truck pull into the drive. The whole sound of him gearing down with his country music blaring always sent them into complete poodle frenzy mode. The truck had never been cleaned, in true H fashion. The paint was fading, the cab was full of boots and tools and Carhart jackets, and he often referred to it as The Office.
I work with a guy who loves engines and trucks and all things grease, so I asked him if he would want The Truck. Somehow, it just didn’t seem right to haul it to a junkyard or sell it to just anyone. That Truck was almost a part of our family. I told the guy that if he would take care of, and enjoy it, I would happily sell it to him for one dollar. He was thrilled.
In our household, I always took care of all of the bills and insurances and paperwork. H had little interest in filing and keeping track unless it involved things in drywall buckets. I have this highly-organized filing system that consists of a big filing cabinet full of papers. A few years ago, I got all sophisticated and put the papers in piles that make sense. Anyway, I searched my trusty filing cabinet for the title to The Truck but it was nowhere to be found. I searched again and again and could not find one bit of information on that vehicle. I found the loan papers from the 1985 Dodge Colt, the 1988 Mercury Topaz, the 2 GMC Jimmy’s, the Mitsubishi Outlander…but absolutely nothing on The Truck. And the more I searched the madder and more frustrated I became. Literally, by the time I looked One. Last. Time. and decided to give up and go to bed, I was in full-rage mode. Meltdown City. The f-bombs were dropping, I was crying and stomping around and yelling…the dogs just sat there and stared at me. It was not a pretty sight.
It is hard to brush your teeth when you are crying. It is doubly-awful to watch yourself cry while you try to brush your teeth. Sometimes it makes you cry harder and then you just feel like complete shit. I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, even more of a sobbing and angry mess. For some odd reason, I peeked into H’s closet. There, on the shelf by his shirts, was a Wal-Mart bag. It was kind of sticking out, and I had not seen it in the many times I had been in his closet in the past few weeks. Wal-Mart has always been my LEAST favorite place in the whole world. I just detest the whole scene…H used to shudder when I would stop there for groceries and come home with my 8 zillion little plastic bags and a lot of swear words and grumbling about people in scooters with few teeth. Much to my amazement, inside this Wal-Mart bag that I had not seen before sticking out of the shelf by his shirts, was all of the paperwork for The Red Truck, including the title. H must have been beside himself laughing, the goof. That was so his sense of humor. Ha Ha, Ya, thanks buddy :) Guess he was just making sure I found that truck a fabulous new home.
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