In Which I'm a Sore Disappointment

When I pulled into the motel parking lot, there were two car haulers already parked. The one closest to the motel had some Chrysler minivans loaded and the next one was empty. They were industrial red medium duty day cabs with painted steel wheels and no frills. Fleet "portable parking lots," in other words. Of course, the drivers are all probably union and make twice what I do.

So, I backed next to the empty one, shut down the Binder, and collected my stuff to go check in. As I was walking around the other two rigs, I saw an elderly gentleman who had just driven in and parked get out of his car and walk to the side entrance. He was scoping out the loaded car hauler, a look of wonder and joy on his face.

Are you hauling new cars?

No sir, I'm empty.

The expression fell a tad - he was disappointed that I wasn't the driver of the rig loaded with minivans.

Oh, so you're on your way to pick up some cars?

Uhhh, no sir, I drive the truck further to the south. That brown one over there. I haul tanks.

Crestfallen, he started walking towards the motel again.

I'd bet those are new minivans - they're all Chryslers and nearly identical, so he probably loaded at the factory.

He turned, his face brightening considerably.

You think so?

Yessir, I'm sure.

Well, thank you. I'll let you go so you can check in. Good evening.

And good evening to you, sir.

So much for polishing and waxing the ol' tank hauler - when just hauling minivans on stripper trucks is ever so much more kewl. My priorities are totally screwed.