October 7, 2012
One fellow I met on the road told me how he got involved in over-the-road driving. The lesson in logic has never left me.
Growing up on a farm in Wisconsin, he dreamt of escaping the hardscrabble existence facing the modern small farmer. Viet Nam offered only a lateral Hell, so upon returning to civilian life, he employed his skill as a truck driver. He took the first opportunity that presented itself, a route with a septic tank pump truck.
Rural Fond Du Lac County features mid-range to large-scale farms, supplied sparsely by municipal sanitation systems. Even trailer courts operated on septic systems, and the story unfolds here.
Winter in Wisconsin means subzero temperatures for months on end, the very earth frozen to a depth of several inches or more. Emptying a cistern of several hundred gallons required removing an access cover with a heavy gaff, then breaking up the frozen surface crust with a sort of wrecking bar so the contents would fit through a large-diameter hose dropped into the hole.
As the driver went about his work, he was joined by a resident of the place, a young boy morbidly curious about the hole, as only boys can be. Observing the slow progress, the lad asked the driver, "Do you like your job?" The driver admitted "No, not particularly...what's to like?"
Watching awhile in silence, the lad next asked, "Does it pay a lot of money?" Smiling ruefully, the driver confessed "No, not a lot."
Some time passed. Finally the precocious youth posed that fateful last question: "Is this the only job you could get?"
That the driver went out the very next day and got a REAL job only underscores the feeling we often have that our choices are constricted. That the 10-year-old clearly saw that fallacy reminds us to risk...or rust.
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