- March 21, 2019
- Posted by Guest Blogger
All the rigs in the fleet had been cleaned with brisk and callous efficiency. Each seat’s top and underside vacuumed, windows wiped inside and out, and exterior washed with intense fervor. But then, that last rig was finally ready, and we watched it pull up to us, slowly. It’s wheels spinning in their muddy wells, it’s white topper sitting high and proud, and its headlights suggestively staring into each of our souls. It was our baby, Muggsy. We ran our hands over her white paint and patted her gently on the backside. “Don’t worry you dirty girl, we’ll get you all clean,” we told her. Then the work began. We vacuumed thoroughly, diving into every crevice with patience and purpose. We wiped each window in gentle counterclockwise circles, removing each bump and blemish that distracted from her beautiful views. We popped her top and looked under her hood at the mysterious marvels that lay beneath; our hands left greasy after checking her fluids. She was geared up and ready to go to the wash. We all piled in, feeling her comforting cushion beneath us for what we knew would be the last time. We revved her engine and she got us where we needed to go. We coated her with steaming hot water before spreading suds all over her- from her gleaming top to her dark undercarriage. We all took turns and none of us left the wash dry, especially not Muggsy, who was still dripping wet when we parked her with the rest of the fleet. We walked off, leaving her forever in our rear views, but on the dashboards of our hearts.
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