I am driving cross-country, and see occasional waft of smoke coming from my engine. Worried, I pull over as soon as I can, which happens to be a truck-stop.

I open my hood to try to identify the problem. I admit I am a young guy that works in tech, and I don’t know a lot about cars or mechanics, so I am having trouble. This is apparently not lost on the group of truck-drivers who are sharing a conversation over some cigarettes in the corner. They approach me.

Driver #1: “Having some car trouble?”

Me: “Yeah, my engine is smoking a little bit, but I don’t know what to do.”

Driver #2: “Well let’s have a quick look, see what we can see.”

What follows, is four burly truck drivers huddled around my car, talking among themselves in a foreign language to me, talking about things like alternators, crank-shafts, and cylinders. It is, quite honestly, amazing.

Driver #1: “We think we know what the problem is. Lucky for you, [Driver #3] has the parts to fix it.”

Me: “Really? That’s amazing! Is it a quick fix?”

Driver #3: “Should be. How far are you driving?”

I explain my route and how I have about 300 miles left to go. He looks at the other drivers for a moment and then goes to his truck. He returns with a toolbox, and it is absolutely beautiful. Wrenches of every size you can imagine, other parts and contraptions I could never hope to identify, and again, the drivers huddle together, like a group of greasy-fingered angels.

There is a tap on my shoulder, and [Driver #1] is there, holding out a hot mug of coffee.

Driver #1: “You still have a ways to go. Make sure you stay awake and alert.”

Me: “Thank you!”

Driver #1: “It’s part of the job. When you drive thousands of miles you know how to fix things, and how to keep awake.”

Within twenty minutes, the drivers have fixed up my car, written down the exact problem and what they did, and advise me to take it to a mechanic when I get to where I am going so that they can look it over, but that I the fix should be enough to get me where I need to be.

I am so incredibly grateful, and try to offer some small compensation, but they are having none of it.

Now, whenever I am driving on the freeway and see a truck-driver, I remember this kind encounter with this group, and how they went out of their way in the little time they get for themselves, to help a mechanically-challenged stranger. I’d love to tell them that I took an online course (I’m still a tech-nerd) and read my car manual so I should be able to not be so completely lost if my car fails on me again!

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(I work as a dispatcher for a towing company, and I receive this call from someone on Saint Paddy’s day.)

Me: “[Towing Company], how can I help you tonight?”

Customer: “Yeah, do you guys deliver?”

Me: *thinking I’m dealing with an ESL speaker, which is fairly common* “Deliver? Do you need me to send a tow truck to you?”

Customer: “No, do you deliver?!”

Me: “I’m sorry; I don’t understand.”

Customer: “Are you deaf? Deliver! Like booze!”

Me: “Sir, this is a towing company; we do not deliver alcohol.”

Customer: “Fair enough…” *click*

(I suddenly realize that this customer is very, very drunk, but think nothing of it. Around 45 minutes later, he calls back.)

Me: “[Towing Company], how can I help you this evening?”

Customer: “Do y’all deliver?”

Me: “Sir, you called already regarding delivery; I told you we don’t provide that service.”

Customer: “Did I? Okay…” *click*

(This happens several times over the next couple of hours until finally I get fed up with him calling.)

Me: “[Towing Company], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Can I get a delivery?”

Me: *cheerily* “Yep! Let me just give you our delivery number!”

(I gave him the local PD direct dispatch number and never heard from him again.)

(When people call in to get a tow, we have a list of questions we ask to gather the information we need. At LEAST ten times a day I go through this exact situation.)

Me: “This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I need my car towed.”

Me: “Okay, not a problem. What is the year, make, model, and color of vehicle?”

Customer: “Honda.”

Me: “Honda what?”

Customer: “Accord.”

Me: “Year and color?”

Customer: “Blue.”

Me: “And the year?”

Customer: “2003.”

Me: “All right, perfect. Where is the vehicle located?”

Customer: “At my house.”

Me: “What’s the address?”

Customer: “[City].”

Me: “I need the street numbers and street name, or at least cross streets.”

Customer: *gives address*

Me: “Perfect, and where would you like it towed?”

Customer: *gives city name*

Me: *slams face into desk repeatedly*

(The morning my friend and I are set to leave our hotel, the valet informs me that my car won’t start. I call my dad, and we figure it’s the fuel pump. The valet helps me find the only car repair place in town that’s open on Sundays, and I arrange for towing. About an hour later, I get a phone call from someone with a very heavy accent who doesn’t speak English very well. He’s the tow truck driver, and he can’t find the giant theme park resort hotel we’re staying in. We eventually communicate well enough that he figures out what hotel he needs. As I used valet parking, I do not know exactly where my car is. I give him the number for the hotel people so he can get the details from them. Not long after, I get a call from the valet telling me that the tow truck is a giant flatbed that’s too big to fit into the parking garage. I call the 1-800 number and arrange for a smaller truck to retrieve my car. The call center lady gives me the direct phone number to the local towing company they contract with, in case I should need it. Several hours later, I get a call from the valet asking when the second tow truck is going to arrive. I’m shocked my car hasn’t been picked up yet, and I call the local number to find out what’s going on.)

Towing Dispatcher: “Yeah?”

Me: “Yes, my car was supposed to be towed from [Hotel] to [Garage], but the first truck they sent was too big. They said they’d send a smaller truck, but it’s been hours and no one’s showed up.”

Towing Dispatcher: *brings up my info in their system* “[Hotel]? That call was canceled. We couldn’t reach the car.”

Me: “Yeah, but I scheduled a second truck to come get it. My car’s in a parking garage.”

Towing Dispatcher: “Fine. I’ll send someone out.” *hangs up*

(Another hour passed. I got a call from the valet saying the towing company sent ANOTHER giant flatbed to get my car. At this point I broke down; I have Aspergers and anxiety issues, and the tow truck troubles, on top of everything else, were too much. My friend saw the state I was in, put on her manager face, and marched off to handle things herself. She returned and told me they finally got my car loaded, thanks to the valet and the tow truck driver, who pushed my little car out of the parking garage themselves. The tow truck driver was complaining loudly about how his company should have sent a smaller truck.)

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What The Truck

Me: “May I have your first name?”

Member: “Steven.”

Me: “Is that Steven with a ‘PH’ or ‘V’?”

Member: “…excuse me?”

Me: “Is that Steven with a ‘PH’ or ‘V’?”

Member: “It’s Steven with a ‘T!’ s-T-e-v-e-n!”