My Mom Mooned 50 Truckers
Nuff said.
Vacations when I was a kid were not vacations at all. My father, trained from years of being in the army, would wake us all up at 1 am, so that we could get out of the tri-state area before the rest of the world’s alarms even went off. It was fun- we felt like we were getting away with something, being up and getting into the car while everyone else was sleeping. By the time they woke up, we’d be in Virginia somewhere. We were kept on a rigorous schedule the whole time, getting up at 6 every morning, breakfast at HoJo’s and every day was planned out. Even relaxing by the pool was a scheduled activity. Years ago, before the days of I-95, the trip from Pennsylvania to Florida was quite an adventure through the south. One year, my dad decided that he was going to pull us out of school for a bit and we were taking a trip to Florida in April. Wow- for someone from PA to be able to escape and go somewhere where the temps were over 50 degrees that time of year, that was pure heaven. We anxiously watched the weather forecast, because snow was predicted in our area. It didn’t look too bad, my dad decided, so we piled into his gigantic brown Thunderbird and off we went. We didn’t make it too far. By the time we got about 100 miles from home, the snow was drifting and much deeper than back home. It was 3 am, and the snow would drift the roads shut as soon as the plows would go through. We crawled in traffic for a while, until we finally came to a standstill. The trucks ahead of us were not moving. The snow was too deep, and we had to sit. My dad would run the heat for a little while, then he’d shut the car off and we could hear the wind howling outside, and the whoosh of the drifting snow brushing up against the car. My mom and dad were the ultimate in preparing for almost all contingencies when we went on vacation. My dad had to make good time, or he took it as a personal failure. When we were little, my father certainly could not be bothered to stop and see Alligator World or The World’s Largest Hairball or even a dog with three peckers, much less stopping for my 4 year old sister’s bladder breaks. They had a a little light blue plastic toilet that they would put in the rear foot well of the car, and if my sister had to go, she would go in that. When we stopped, my mom would empty it out. I became a champion of holding it, because no way in hell was I gonna squat down in the back of the car and go in that stupid plastic toilet. Well, we had been sitting until about 6 am, and after morning coffee and 5 hours on the road, my mom had to go-bad. We were sitting on the highway, just past an exit ramp, but there were no buildings in sight, just a whole bunch of people in cars and trucks lined up down the ramp and the overpass who were stuck just like us. Men have it easy- dad just hopped out and washed down the guard rail, and hopped back into the car. My mom tried to hold it a little longer. The wind is still whipping outside, and you could tell she didn’t relish the idea of getting out of the car. My teeth were practically floating, I had to go so bad, but I was not going to budge. Finally, my mom cannot stand it any longer. She gets out and shuffles to the front of the car. We watched from inside, and just as she got to the front bumper, a huge blast of wind whips her coat open and blows right in her face. She glances around, and reaches back to lower her drawers, and assumes the position. Right as her bare butt was kissed by the winter wind, all of the truckers started flashing their lights and honking their horns at her, obviously enjoying the show. Windows were being rolled down and cat calls and whistles filled the air. My dad nearly peed himself laughing, watching her lower her head in shame, and there was absolutely nothing she could do in mid-stream. Isn’t it dumb how when you have to go so bad like that, everything kinda tenses up, and all you want to do is finish, but it takes forever? Mom finally finished and started to pull up her pants. Just as she was bent over, a gust of wind blew up the back of her coat, and now all 50 of those truckers got a full view of her bum. The honking and light flashing started again, much to my dad’s amusement. He couldn’t resist honking the car horn a couple times at her too. She promptly flipped my dad a nearly frozen middle finger. The snow plow did finally come, and we made our way to Florida. To this day, that is still one of my dad’s favorite stories-how mom flashed about 50 truckers in Virginia.
