I, Trucker

I have a laptop again. Some of you may be pleased to know* that I'll be updating this blog a little more regularly now. At least until somebody steals THIS computer...

Meanwhile, I'm sitting in a rest area in the hills of East Tennessee. Not observing the weather. It's too dark. They didn't have a truck or a load ready for me until fairly late. So I ran until nightfall and parked in the first place I found.

Since that's not too exciting, I think I'll talk about what I did yesterday, during my home time. Don't worry, it's actually relevant. Honest.

As you may recall, when we last saw our hero he was engaged in moving out of his house, following the death of his wife. This process was interrupted several times by silly mundane considerations like trying to earn a living, so it didn't get completely finished until yesterday.

The last trip involved moving a few pretty heavy items. Heavy enough that wheels and a ramp seemed to be called for. So I went to the U-Haul(tm) place and got the smallest truck they had with a ramp. Then my new landlady and another friend helped me load the last few odds and ends of my previous life into the truck. My friend took the car, my landlady joined me in the truck, and we started the trek to the Place of Storage.

On the way, a car cut sharply in front of us. Missed the bumper by a good two feet. My landlady flinched.

Then another one swung in in front of us and hit the brakes. My landlady jumped, then muttered something—I think about his probable ancestry.**

After the fourth or fifth time, she just glared.

And it occurred to me. As it had earlier that day in the car, when someone had come across three lanes of traffic to settle in front of my radiator, then decided this wasn't really his exit and swung back left, then changed his mind again and swooped past me toward the off-ramp. The other friend was with me that time, and made a fairly mild remark about the driver's attention span.

And I'd nodded politely, with no particular emotion.

It's become that routine. I've come to EXPECT people to act as if the huge speeding hunks of metal that surround them were incapable of hurting them. To assume that my lightning reflexes, placed continuously at their service, will preserve them from anything that might come of their latest whim.

I read a book once that was set in Isaac Asimov's “I, Robot” universe. That imaginary future is full of robots, each programmed with three Laws of Robotics. The first of those Laws is

A robot may not harm a human, or, by inaction, allow a human to come to harm.

On a world where these machines have been serving mankind for centuries, we have a scene in which our hero stands on a sidewalk and watches people casually crossing the street—often directly in front of delivery vans, heavy freight trucks, etc. After all, all the vehicles are driven by robots, right? And a robot cannot allow a human to come to harm, right? He'll get out of my way...

Apparently there are a lot of people out there who treat all their fellow drivers exactly like that. And especially the ones driving the really big, dangerous things.

This evening, in heavy rush-hour traffic, I saw the yellow stripe on the green exit sign ahead. The lane I was in was about to become exit-only. I slowed slightly, letting the tractor-trailer beside of me pull ahead, and hit my left-turn blinker.

About ten seconds later, as I carefully began my move to the next lane, the car behind me accelerated. About four feet before he would have impaled himself on the corner of my trailer he slowed back down.

And then he threw up his hands in disgust*** and started (I presume) telling his wife what an ^$$#@!% I am. Didn't I know I was supposed to let him by?

A trucker may not harm a real human, or, by inaction, allow a real human to come to harm.
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*If you're not pleased, please don't tell me...
**Fairly mild, I believe, and more concerned with intelligence than reproductive habits...
***Both of them. The car was driving itself for about two seconds.