Home Country — My Foot

We finally crossed into HOME country. You know that feeling — you relax a little, breathe easier, think, Ahhh, my people. My kindred. My tribe.

DO NOT FEEL THAT WAY.

Dollar General was across from Love’s, and you KNOW you have to shop when the opportunity presents itself. Truck stops only carry so much, and none of it is what you actually need.

I made it safely across a busy four‑lane highway, bags in hand, headed back to the truck. Six empty fuel islands. Twenty‑five empty parking spaces. I crossed the island straight across from our truck — the ONLY truck on that side of the lot.

That’s when I saw him.

A truck barreling toward me like we were in some kind of NASCAR event I didn’t sign up for. I didn’t even know we were racing.

He came straight at MY island. Straight at ME.

I side‑stepped out of his way like a startled deer. He could’ve parked ANYWHERE — the lot was empty. He could SEE Van sitting in the driver’s seat of the ONLY truck around. Logic says I’m going to get in on the passenger side, right?

Apparently not.

He whipped around and came roaring back toward me AGAIN as I walked toward our truck.

I ran to Van’s door, and he let me in like we were escaping a crime scene.

“What is his problem?” I said, breathless.

“You saw that?” Van asked.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I think he was having such a great day he wanted to give me LOTS of insurance… and I was just too quick for him.”