Howdy folks. I’d like to introduce m’self. My name’s Rube, an’ I got a little story I wanna tell ya. I didn’t go much past sixth grade in school, so I don’t talk fancy like them folks what graduated high school or college, but I manages to get said what needs to be said, anyhow. I got me a little cabin in the back country here in Southeast Ideeho. I been sort of a hermit these past several years (well, maybe not a real hermit) ‘cause I do sneak into town on occasion for supplies and provisions and an occasional visit to the mall; and I do have a few modern conveniences. Believe it or not, I even got ‘lectricity here in the outback. Yep, I had me one o’ them World War II surplus generators up until a few years ago, then I obtained me a windmill generator. It’s much quieter, and don’t burn none a that expensive gas or diesel fuel we is a payin’ fer nowadays.
But that ain’t the story I wanna tell ya ‘bout. No, it’s about me an’ ol’ Gertrude. Gertrude’s my 1941 black Ford pickup truck. She and I has been together a long time. She wuz like new when I got her. Ya see, when I found Gertrude she’d been stored in a ol’ farmers barn for nigh on twenty years. Seems when America got inta the big war back in 1941, this here farmer figured trucks might be hard to come by fer a few years. He’d saved up a few dollars, so he went and bought three 1941 Ford pickup trucks. He wore one of ‘em out, was still drivin’ the second one afore he died, and his widder decided to sell the third one in 1961. It had been settin’ in this feller’s barn fer all them years and had never been run much, exceptin’ when he took her out once a month for a wash job, and a short run to keep her bearings and seals limbered up. She was just like brand new when I got ‘er, an’ she had less than a hundred miles. So ya see folks, It’s almost like me an’ Gertrude been together since she was built.
We’ve had our problems, though. I had to take her into the truck hospital fer some minor surgery. Seems like since I been venturin’ to town more often lately, I been havin’ more problems. A few days ago, I decided to take a trip to one o’ our neighborin’ states. I wuz just drivin’ along whistlin’ a happy tune (Gertrude ain’t got no radio, so’s I has to whistle for my entertainment whiles I drive). Well, anyways, I’m a chuggin’ along mindin’ my own business and givin’ the proper hand signals when I wants ta change lanes on the fancy freeway I wuz a drivin’ on.
What wuz so exasperatin’, though, wuz nobody seemed to pay no attention to my signals. I stuck my arm straight out when I wants to move left into the next lane, but cars just kept comin’ up long side of me so close they almost took my arm off. Then when I wants to go back into the right lane, I stuck my arm out at a 45 degree angle up, but nobody paid no attention to that, neither. Then this police car comes up in back o’ me an’ starts flashin’ all them red ‘n blue lights. What he’s doin’ back there, I don’t have no idee, but he just keeps follerin’ me with them lights a flashin’. Finally, after a whiles, he pulls up long side me an’ honks his horn. When I looks over at ‘im he points his finger at the side ‘o the road. I decides he must want me to pull over. So that’s what I done.
When he gits outa the car, I discovers he ain’t no man after all; he’s a woman, an’ let me tell you folks, I could tell she wuz fumin’ mad; and from the look in her eye, I could tell she wuz all business. I knowed right away she wuzn’t about to invite me to no road side picnic. I says to her–right polite like– “Howdy ma’am.” She gave me a stern look and tol’ me her name wuz officer so and so, and I wuz to address her that way. So that’s what I done. First thing she asked me is: “Don’t you know you’re supposed to pull over when an emergency vehicle flashes its lights at you?”
I asked her, ” Emergency vehicle? Where’s the emergency vehicle? I don’t see no emergency vehicle.“ That didn’t set too well, neither. She turned kinda white, and the pencil she wuz a holdin’ snapped in two. She says to me she was the emergency vehicle.
“Oh,” I says.
Well, lordy sakes, folks, I didn’t know a police car was a emergency vehicle. I thought emergency vehicles was ambulances and fire engines.
Then she asked me what wuz I doin with all that arm wavin’ business. I tol’ her I wuz signalin’ to the folks that I wanted to change lanes. She asked me why didn’t I use my turn signals. I tol’ her Gertrude don’t have no turn signals. This here’s a 1941 black Ford pickup truck, for lordy sakes. They didn’t have no turn signals when she wuz built. This lady officer stares at me with one o’ them kinda blank stares. Then she nods her head from side to side like she don’t understand what I’m a talkin about an’ tells me I’d better get some, because most people nowadays don’t know what them hand signals I wuz doin’, is even all about. Then she says, “let me see yer driver’s license.” Now folks, I may be a country rube, but I knows ya has to have a drivin’ license to drive these days, so’s I whipped it out and showed it to her.
Well, she tells me if I’m goin’ to continue to drive this ol’ relic, I’m gonna have to bring her up to modern day code. Now, Gertrude has a personality all her own, an‘ she didn’t take to well to bein’ called a ol’ relic, so she threw a fit just like that little Volkswagon car did in that there movie, Herby. She roared her little ol’ flathead V-8 purty good at this lady officer. Well, anyways, this here lady officer tol’ me she wuz givin’ me a ticket for not havin’ no turn signals, an’ I better get some installed on Gertrude afore I venture out on the highway agin. She said she’d forgive my ignorance this time about evadin’ a police officer, though. That one coulda landed me in jail.
So I guessed that’s what I’d have to do. I’m tellin’ you, folks, I wuzn’t lookin’ forward to that. I hates truck hospitals worse than a cat hates water. I think it’s because ever time I take Gertrude there it costs me a arm and leg to get her out an’ I’m ornerier than a bear with a sore paw for days afterwards. An’ I really don’t enjoy bein’ ornery.
Well, anyways, I made the appointment, an’ took Gertrude to the truck hospital an’ got the turn signals. I gotta admit, now, though; theys purty neat. She’s got two amber lookin’ lights on her front fenders, an’ two new fancy lookin’ red tail lights on the back. She looks purty classy, actually. When I flips ‘em on, people don’t try to clip my arm off no more. They just hangs back and lets me slide into the other lane smooth as silk. Maybe that lady police officer didn’t do me such a bad turn after all, even if she wuz a bit cranky. An’ I’m not even ornery about all the money it cost, neither. See ya, folks.
Rube.
