Picture yourself cruising down I-70. It’s a beautiful day; the wind is blowing through your hair and you’re feeling good. You close your eyes for a moment, taking in this perfect moment. Then, you slowly open them to see yourself almost smash into some big honking truck blocking your lane. Some might honk, but then you chicken out and just do what everyone else does—glare. But your glare does nothing to intimidate the mighty power of the truck; if anything, your glare bounced off the giant hunk of metal to intimidate you as you speed off in a huffy rush.
If among the thoughts racing through your mind at that second, one was “OH! How rude!” and then congratulations, you are not me.

Whether it’s an El Camino, a double cab and or one of those huge 18-wheelers that always drive in the no-truck zones even though they know they shouldn’t be there, I have had the misfortune of attracting those death traps. And I hate this power I have because I hate trucks.

Now, I’m sure I might be treading lightly on the toes of some truck drivers’ emotions but don’t get fussy; I don’t mean any offense towards any of you, just to your cars. And if you really feel offended that I said something about your car, then I’m sorry, but you may have a problem.

While I’m in a rush to get to Clayton or on a slow ride home, my commute always gets interrupted by a truck. Seriously, if I had a dime for every time I got stuck behind one this year, I’d have enough to buy each of trucks a gallon of premium unleaded gas. Don’t believe me? Follow along Claytonites, and soon you shall understand.
I have never been a fan of trucks, not even when I was a kid. To me they’ve always looked like deformed SUVs that should’ve been recalled to the factories, so it’s no surprise that my distaste with them grew deeper as I witnessed their impact on the world of driving.
Everyday I have to pass a truck dock on the way to school and mind you this is a small residential street where this dock is located so I can only hope that one can imagine the frustration of trying to get to a zero-hour class while having to wait for a truck driver to get his coffee, hop into his truck, start it up, and slowly move on out.
Then once I’m finally off that street I get stuck behind a small truck at the first stop light. The light turns green, and the truck accelerates at a whopping 10 miles per hour to turn. I exhale a small sigh of relief, only to have it become a sharp intake of air as a FedEx truck merges into my lane and slowly searches for So-and-so Street (which is maybe seven stop lights away).

Then, by the time I move around that truck, I’ll be behind another and another and another—anyway, you get my drift; I get stuck behind trucks a lot.
But I know I can’t be the only one who had to be somewhere but was stuck behind a truck for five miles. Yes, to my fellow small car owners, I say must the power of size always trump the advantage of having a leather interior, power windows, and aerodynamic side panels? In my world, No, but it does.
Nonetheless, though we can’t see through, over, or around trucks on a street, and though life in a truck-dominated world is difficult to bear, I’m sure that one day we small car owners will have some power over trucks. Granted, just because I’m sure of it does it make it any more likely that it will happen, so hopefully you weren’t expecting me to tell that day because I’m just as clueless as you are.