Compensating

If you’ve ever been through my little section of the Great American woods, you’ll have seen a tractor in the front yard of a house in town.  You wouldn’t look twice except to say, “Well, it’s a farming community” in understanding why a big, old tractor is basically a lawn ornament, complete with the patch of clover growing up around it.

Except, it’s not a lawn ornament.  Apparently, it’s a collectible - who knew FULL SIZED tractors were collectibles - and “Him” is determined to fix ‘er up and put ‘er to work in a field.  I’m all for that idea.  With the advent of 3D printing and CNC machines, even the OLDEST antique can be put back into working order and garner another 100 years of use.  “Him” has done all the basics needed, now it’s just a matter of knocking shit loose before he goes to the next step.

So you can imagine my excitement when he says, “I need your help,” while I’m cooking dinner.  I’m thinking, “Sweet!  I gets to drive a tractor today!” as I get my boots on and chase after “Him” out the door, my inner child yelling, “Wait for me!”  He tells me what he’s doing and why he’s doing it (he knows my inner three year old very well), and when I asked him what he wanted me to do, he handed me his truck keys with a cheeky grin.

Butthole knows how excited I am to drive the tractor…

Now, I have to interject another story here.  You see, I drive a tiny car.  It’s a Chevy Spark.  The running joke from the “men-folk” is I have squirrels and hamsters as the engine; or, as “Him” teases, my own legs, as if my car is a Fred Flinstone sedan or something.  I just smile sweetly and remind them all I get 40 miles to a gallon of gas and it only costs me $30 to fill up.  I ask them how much it costs to fill their truck tanks and the conversation topic gets changed really quick.  

I bring that up, because it never fails where I’m parked at, there’s ALWAYS a big ol’ truck that’s got to park riight next to me.  Not like, they pull in straight or anything; oh no, they have to make this grand gesture of turning their tank into the spot next to me with their front end close enough for me to reach out my window and brush the animal guts off of their front bumper.  OR, I park my car with SEVERAL parking spaces available between me and the next car on either side of me.  When I come out of the store, not one, but TWO trucks are parked next to me - usually one preventing me or my passenger from opening our door.  Now, these aren’t just regular sized trucks.  These are GIGANTIC trucks - the kind a country boy would use on the farm.  But these trucks that “pen me in” are sparkling clean and CLEARLY a symbol of the owner having feelings of inadequacies - meaning they’re compensating for having a little dick because every other huge ass truck I’ve ever seen has had mud or muck SOMEWHERE on the truck.  My CAR has more bug guts on the windshield than theirs did in the grill, so…city boys pretending to be country boys equals little dicks.  Especially when I see the driver and passenger getting into them.  No one goes into a Walmart dressed like it’s Sunday unless it IS a Sunday and after church lets out.  Why else would a prissy guy/gal drive a truck that isn’t used for what it’s intended - ripping out stumps, hauling trailers or mudding?  Hence my conclusion of compensation.

Literally turned around in the Dollar General parking lot to park next to my teeny tiny car

When my boyfriend brought his truck home, I looked at it and reassured him he had no reason to feel inadequate.  His deadpan face was what the emoji had to have been based off of...  “Him’s” truck is a monster.  I literally have to climb the side of the truck just to get into the passenger seat, using not only hand grips the manufacturer provided near the roof of the cab, but using the inside door handle “shut the door” thingy, the running board and the middle console.  That’s just getting into the seat.  To close the door, I have to use the hand grip attached to the roof of the cab, swing my torso out to grab and close the door.  The neighbors get a good laugh whenever we use the truck together - I look like a damned spider monkey getting in the thing.  The first time I got inside the truck, “Him” was laughing at me asking if I needed a ladder.  In my defense, I grew up in a household that unless it served more than one purpose, we didn’t own it - that included the vehicles as well.  The family station wagon was able to haul a ton of bricks for the septic tank when I was a child and the Econoline van we had when we moved down to Kansas was able to haul 9 tons of gravel and sand for our concrete project.  I never had to learn how to get into a truck taller than me.

Anyway, getting in the driver’s seat is much easier.  Just grab the steering wheel and haul your ass in.  Then I had to move the seat forward to reach the pedals - “Him” is a good 6-8 inches taller than I - and I heard him say, “Watch the hips” before I started it up.  His truck is a dually - the idiot who thought it was a good idea to put a big ol’ ass on a truck should be shot - and it’s like driving a frigging freighter.  It’s a good thing I have experience driving both boats (station wagons) and gigantic pieces of plywood (vans).  Big hips don’t bother me none.  I navigated the truck into the yard and put her into position behind the tractor.  “Him” chains them together and gestures for me to back up.  I slowly back up until the chain is taut, then I give it some gas…diesel, whatever.  The truck slid more than the tractor.  “Him” tells me to put it into neutral, then pop it in 4 wheel drive.

Say what now?  He wants ME to drive his truck in 4 wheel drive?  With his collectible tractor attached?  ME?  The one who, when I’m driving by myself, thinks the road is my personal race track and I get points for how many “competitors” I pass?  Me?  The one who can fuck up a steel ball with a feather?  That me?

Ohhkay…it’s your baby.

I popped the truck into 4 wheel drive and pressed the accelerator, watching the wheels of the tractor slide.  “Him” gives me a “You can do better than that” look, so I floored it, praying “Him” would forgive the ruts left behind from the tractor tires being dragged.  Him gestured for me to stop and unhooked the chain from the truck.  “Put it back into 2 wheel, drive around to the front to pull.”  I did as I was told and after Him hooked it back up, he mentioned putting it into 4 wheel drive again.  “Already did.”  He nodded with satisfaction and gestured for me to back it up again.  This time, I drove it like I stole it.  Slowly pressed the accelerator until the chain was taut, then slammed it down.

The tractor wheels broke free!  They were turning!  I put the truck into park and “Him” took the chains off.  I leaned out the window and asked if he wanted me to go to the back.  He met me at the window shaking his head.  He had fiddled with stuffs and for the next part, he’d need someone who knew what they were doing.  I didn’t take offense to what he said.  I have often said I know nothing about tractors.  I know absolutely ZERO except how to put my butt in the seat.  As I climbed out of his truck, he said I looked good driving it.  

*ME: I like driving it.  Now I understand why city boys have one.

*HIM (laughing): What are you compensating for?

*ME: I gots a little dick and I ain’t ashamed to say it!