Dez receives a call from his temp agency, “we need a truck driver to drop off a 5-tonne payload to Bayswater”.
It’s all white noise after the word “truck”. That is a word Dez hasn’t heard in a while. Ever since he failed to clear the Mandurah forum underground car park. Luckily no one was hurt as the news of the drug test for welfare trial had cleared Mandurah out like ScoMo’s bowels at Engadine Maccas.
Dez should decline, he is a terrible truck driver, but the job is paying well and after 2 Dare Iced Coffees he is feeling as wired as a terrorist’s vest. He hears down the phone, “you still there, dickhead? you want the job or not?”
Ken oath he does. It is a chance for redemption as he yearns for the industry’s respect. See he is not a real truck driver. He has never crossed the Nullarbor. He has never paid a crying hooker with a line of meth off his raging boner in a roadhouse toilet. In fact, the cunt has barely even got through a season of Ice Road Truckers. He’s fuck all mate.
Unfortunately, this job is time sensitive, and Dez has set himself back by getting wedged in a Hungry Jacks’ drive through. He manages to free himself after scraping more paint off his rented rig than a Dulux pap-smear.
He only has 20 minutes to make it 40 minutes across Perth, so he relies on the only two tools in his repertoire: shortest route on the GPS and driving so far up people arse’s you’d think it was Turnbull on the phone to Trump.
Dez has transformed into a raging bull of Perth roads. Fearless. He charges red lights like they were a matador’s cape. Despite the setback at HJs he is looking pretty sweet to make it on time.
That is until his GPS sends out the dreaded direction. The Moby Dick of shit truckies, “in 50m turn right onto Railway Parade”. Aw shit. He makes the right and is staring down the Bayswater Underpass. Is he going to back out and miss his deadline? Like Tony Abbott’s gay marriage postal vote: FUCK NO.
The three ominous signs flash 3.8m at him, he sees them, but how high is his truck? 3.6 (probably), relax Dez, you got this. Pedal to the metal. He sails through with ease, makes the drop-off and is carried off on the shoulders of his truck driving brothers. A Hero.
Then he wakes up with a mild concussion after creaming the bridge like a virgin’s jeans during a lapdance. Turns out he misjudged the clearance worse than Bill Shorten’s ability to win an election.
He finishes up the day, not a hero, but just another shit-for-brains statistic.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?