I’M NOT TRUCKIN’ AROUND

As many of you know, I’m pretty weird. There’s so many little things about me that are just different. One of them is that I drive a little red truck. It’s not a cool kind of truck either. Of course, knowing me, it’s a truck made for an old man, so I gave him an equally old-manish name: Geoffrey. He really is like an old man. Sometimes in the morning, he won’t start on the first try, and I’ll have to hit his battery with a hammer to get him started.

I have had my little red truck for a while. My parent’s got him from some car lot in some place I don’t remember the summer before my junior year. We got him pretty much right before I got my license. To clarify, as my parents always do, Geoffrey is not my truck; my parents bought him so that I could drive places and so that my dad could have easy access to a truck if need be. When I first saw him, I knew his name would be Geoffrey: I just looked at him and knew it. I told my dad what I wanted him to be named, and his response was, “Well, I’m going to call it mine.” My dad makes the typical dad jokes on a daily basis, so it was no surprise.

Geoffrey has his perks, clearly, like giving me the ability to drive, and in the summer, I make a pool out of his bed. I’ve always wanted to fill him up with pillows and blankets and sleep outside sometime when it’s nice out. However, Geoffrey has some downsides. He’s very small. I like to go shopping a lot, and it’s hard to take a friend and be comfortable during a trip. I take a friend of mine home most days, and if it’s raining, we can’t put out stuff in the bed, so it’s a nightmare inside the little truck. Nevertheless, Geoffrey is great, and I love having him.