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This story is about an old friend of mine. I'll call him Rick, but of course, that's not his real name. Rick is basically a nice guy. I've known him for 17 years and he's the person who got me into trucking, and for that I will always be grateful to him. I didn't know who I was before I started driving a truck. Without Rick I would probably still be bouncing from job to job and struggling to make a modest rent payment.
Rick is two years younger than me and he got his CDL as soon as he turned 21. There was an immediate change in his personality when he got that first trucking job. He was proud of what he was doing and he was really proud of himself for perhaps the first time in his life. He looked the part, too. He started wearing a cowboy hat and cowboy boots to go along with his button down long sleeved shirts and jeans. He got a couple of tattoos on his forearms and would wear his shirt with the sleeves rolled up to make them visible. I thought he was cool as fuck.
On the weekends I would go over to Rick's house. We were next door neighbors at the time and we both still lived with our parents. We would sit in the basement drinking beer as Rick told me all about trucking and his adventures out on the road. It wasn't long after my 24th birthday that I entered truck driving school.
I saw less of Rick after I got my CDL. I signed on with a large over the road company and there were times when I would be gone for two months. But we would sometimes manage to catch each other on our home time and there would be Rick's basement and there would be beer and there would be stories. Then Rick moved and I saw even less of him.
Then one day about 6 years ago I heard through a mutual friend that Rick had gotten a DUI. That's real bad news if you want to drive a truck for a living. Basically, no one will hire you for the next five years. Rick was coming home from his brother's birthday celebration and he'd had too much to drink. For some reason he thought it was a good idea to put his car in park and take a nap while waiting for a red light. The cops rolled up on him and that was all for Rick in trucking for the next five years.
Instead of that being a wake up call about his drinking, Rick slid further and further into alcoholism. By then I had a local job and I would sometimes go over to visit Rick on the weekends. He was always wanting me to bring more beer. I would sit there and talk to him for a while, but he was no longer the proud, happy person he had been. The more he got into the beer the more he would start singing the blues. He seems to look up to me now like I looked up to him when we were kids. He will always talk about how good I'm doing and he likes my stories, but by the end of the night he's always beating himself up.
One recent night while I was visiting he had about 15 beers in him and we were just shooting the breeze. Then he got really serious and he said to me, "To get anywhere in life you have to be a dick." I tried to tell him that wasn't true, but he insisted that it was.
Rick really is a nice guy, even when he's hammered and singing the blues. It breaks my heart to see him like he is now. Peace, Rick. I wish you the best.
Sorry to post and run, but I have to get some sleep. I will check for replies later.
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