TRUCKIN' DAYS: THE GREATEST PICKUP LINE EVER

                        Actual factual photo of Roosevelt Avenue, San Diego (National City)

By Grant McGee

The naval base at San Diego is a trucker’s dream stop.

There was a supermarket, McDonald’s, Burger King, a laundromat, a movie theater…everything a trucker would need for a layover.  Get some laundry done, stock up on groceries, grab some eats and watch a movie while you’re waiting for the next load.

This is where I found myself bringing a load of who-knows-what to the U.S. Navy at San Diego.  This is also where I heard the world’s greatest pickup line.

I had arrived in San Diego with my Trinidadian co-driver Frank. 

Our load was set up to take to different warehouses on the base.  When we got to the last delivery it was the end of the work day, 4:30, and no one answered the door.

“We shall just have to go park up at that supermarket,” said Frank in his Trinidadian accent.

“A most excellent idea!” I said.  I had seen all the good stuff around the store.  I was going to shop, do some laundry and get some munchies.

We pulled in to a big parking lot, I pulled on the air brake and shut ‘er down.

It seemed like no sooner had we turned the engine off then there was a “BAM-BAM-BAM” on the driver’s side door.

I looked out the window.

It was a military cop.

“Yes sir,” I said with a smile.

“You can’t stay here, sir,” said the cop.

“We have a load to deliver here in the morning, we got to this place,” I had my papers out and was pointing to the last entry on the page, “and they’re closed.”

“Well unless you’re delivering weapons you can’t stay overnight on the base.”

I looked off in the distance then looked back at the cop.

“But there’s no place for truckers around here,” I said.  “The only place I know of is down on the Mexican border, and it’s pretty rough.”

“Most guys park up on Roosevelt Avenue,” said the cop.  “It’s wide and lots of room for trucks.”

“You can’t pretend we’re hauling weapons?” I said with a smile.

“No sir,” the cop wouldn’t crack a smile.  “You have to leave the base and come back tomorrow.”

So after getting directions from the cop on how to get to Roosevelt Avenue I fired the rig back up and rumbled away from the San Diego navy base.

We followed the cop’s directions, we turned this way, went down this freeway and that boulevard and soon I turned the big rig on to Roosevelt Avenue…a wide street that ran alongside Interstate 5 for a couple of miles.  There wasn’t any traffic, there was plenty of room for a big rig to park, it was lined with motels…it was everything the cop said it was.

And then some.

But that would come later.

I had the pick of anyplace I wanted to park on Roosevelt Avenue, there weren’t any other trucks there.  So I pulled the rig so the cab was under a big ol’ shade tree, yanked on the air brake and shut ‘er down.  I had a snack and went back to the sleeper to relax and read.

I fell asleep.

When I woke up I heard Frank talking up front.  I could tell he was talking to someone outside the rig.  I got up from my bunk, pulled the curtain back and saw a whole different Roosevelt Avenue.

The sun was setting on a street now filled with big rigs parked up on down the line.

There were women making their way from rig to rig.  There were guys doing the same, moving their eyes from side to side as they talked to the drivers.

“Hookers and drug dealers,” I mumbled.

Yeah, everything the cop said and more.

Frank was still talking out the window.  I leaned over and looked.  Two women, short skirts, outrageously high heels, low cut blouses revealing serious cleavage.

I tapped Frank on the shoulder.

Frank turned around.

“Frank,” I said, “They ain’t coming in here.”

“What?”

“No sir,” I said.  “It could be a ruse.  You let them in here it might be just a way to get in and rob us.  Why are you talking to them anyway?”

“I am getting prices,” said Frank.

“But you’re married,” I said.

Of course, I could see Frank’s point.  I had met Frank’s wife during a stop in Houston where he lived.  She was kind of scary looking, like maybe she was a Trinidadian voodoo priestess.  She had a normal looking, slightly overweight body but she had this little head.  It looked like someone had taken a skull, covered it with some skin and stuck it on the wrong sized body.  Plus she had this eye, her right eye wandered.  It was like if you were talking to her her left eye would be looking at you but the right eye would be looking somewhere else.

And she never completely closed her mouth so her teeth were always showing.  Yeah, like a skull.

“You ARE still married, aren’t you?” I asked.

Frank turned away from the women in the street and looked at me.  It was at this time he uttered what I consider to be The World’s Greatest Pickup Line or the best excuse for getting a little “randy.”

“The Lord has blessed me with a great sex drive, and I must use it to his glory,” said Frank.

I stood there stunned.  I smiled.

It helps to know that Frank was born Hindu in Trinidad.  Somewhere in the past few years he had switched over to Christianity.  Frank saw God everywhere.  One night while rumbling across Wyoming I had pondered the stars and other civilizations “out there” to which he stated there was nothing else out there, “The Lord made the stars and the moon so we wouldn’t be so lonely at night.”

Frank would often insist that he and I pray every time before we headed down the highway with a load.  His words might be, “Lord, my brother Grant and I are angry with each other right now but please watch over us as we deliver this next load…”

One time I remarked about being lucky at winning a scratch off lottery ticket.

“Oh no, Grant, there is no such thing as luck,” said Frank.  “Blessings.  You are blessed.”

“The Lord has blessed me with a great sex drive, and I must use it to his glory.”  Coming from Frank it seemed quite natural and sincere.

I could imagine this line being used at a bar.  I could see some guy with no boundaries whispering this to a “Sunday Kind of Woman” walking down a church hallway after Wednesday evening Bible study.  Hell, it could be used anywhere.

I laughed.

“Dude,” I said.  “Do what you want, I’m going for a walk.”

When I came back to the rig Frank was gone.  Night had fallen on San Diego.  I crawled in my bunk and went to sleep.

I woke the next day to a traffic jam across the chain link fence on the interstate.  Frank was asleep in his bunk.

I rolled down the windows to let the fresh morning air in, even though it was laced a bit with car exhaust.

Somewhere in the tree limbs above a mockingbird was singing it’s heart out welcoming the new day.

There were thousands of cars just a few feet away and this mockingbird didn’t give a damn, it was going to sing its morning song.

I put my feet up on the dash and listened.

And pondered if one day I might use The Greatest Pickup Line Ever.

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