When you are driving a truck

So at my place of work, there are lots of huge vehicles that are used to haul around large quantities of the green dirt that we happen to sell (in large quantities). Things are actually divided into two operations--the east plant, where the office and the smaller operation and littler piles of dirt live, and the west plant, where the old nickel mine used to be, and where the HUGE piles of dirt live. Like seriously huge. They have trees growing out of them.

I work at the east plant in the office because I'm too pretty to wear coveralls and drive a forklift. (False. I work at the east plant in the office because my dad works at the east plant in the office, and he is the one responsible for getting me this job. And also I am his number-crunching slave when his number-cruncher is sore.) I also have, on occasion, reasons to run up to the other plant, because we store musty old records in the old office building (which is haunted) and sometimes I have to pick up paperwork from the guys or reset security cameras. It's all great fun.

 And okay. This is just a crappy picture I took with my phone, but still! Haunted.

We have a guy who hauls rock back and forth between plants for us. I don't really know why he does this, to be honest, but it seems to have something to do with tests and weights and stuff. As it turns out, selling green dirt is actually very complicated and intense and you have to be pretty clever to do it. But for whatever reason, we have this nice guy whose family has been around town forever, who works with his dad hauling stuff for people.

His name is Willard. Someone in his family makes barbeque sauce and Willard gave us some for Christmas because that's how awesome he is.

When I'm cruising around in the company car, and his big yellow cab comes bearing down on me, I'll wave because it's polite and because we know each other.

Only recently, he's started doing this thing where he doesn't just wave. One time, at the west plant, he shook his fist at me like a punk (possibly because I was going ridiculously slow over the railroad tracks at the intersection and so his way out was blocked and he couldn't go anywhere until I moved). The other day, instead of waving, he took both hands off the wheel and gave me a nice interpretation of jazz hands.

He thought he was pretty funny. Except that he hauls rock--literally tons and tons of rock--in a dump truck sort of setup, with a big ol' trailer hitched along for the ride. This is not a small truck. I would actually die if he ran me over in it, even inside the relative safety of the company car.

So it was also terrifying. Punk driver.

Did I mention the front part has three sets of wheels, while the back trailer has four sets? One set right after the other like millipede legs.

Not cool, Willard. Not cool.

This is my gross approximation of Willard's truck.