Truck Talk


“I don’t know your, your…friend… here but to be honest, Frankie, I am shocked at you.” She said. Then turned on her heels and stormed out.

I didn’t see that coming.

There is a roadside diner I frequent for lunch. Lots of people from all professions stop to eat there. It’s one of those places where the staff make you feel as if you’re the most important customer they ever had.

There’s a waitress who works there. I understand it is rude to describe somebody by their physical appearance.  So I will just give her name, as it is spelled on her badge. Manddy! Notice the double ‘d’. Her name suits her. That’s all I’m saying.

So this one day I arrived in to find a friend of mine sat alone at a booth by the window.  He’s a truck mechanic. I used to work alongside him for years until I hung up the spanners and opted for a life inside a truck rather than underneath.

It was great to talk technical again, with somebody who knew what he was talking about. I was telling him about a few problems I had been having with my old girl, my baby, my truck.

She doesn’t have the modern self greasing system. It is an older model. All greasing has to be carried out by hand, using a tool called a grease gun. Each joint has a small little connection to which the gun  would be attached. These connection points are called grease nipples. The word nipple conjures up a different image in the mind of a mechanic. Not a sexy image at all. It is a messy job.

We were in deep conversation when an elderly neighbour of mine arrived in and sat at the table next to us. A real lady, it has to be said. I gave her a little wave. She replied with her trademark nod and smile. Rather like the queen of England would do.

Manddy took her order then came over with more tea for us. We thanked her and returned to our conversation.

“Do you wanna know what I would do with her?” asked my friend.

“Go on, give me your expert opinion.” I answered with a knowing smile. He loved talking trucks.

“Well she’s a big girl, isn’t she?”

“She is indeed.” I nodded.

“And you say she’s been around the block a fair bit?”

“Well, no shame in it.”

“Aye, but she’s seen a fair bit of grease if you know what I mean?”

“I suppose.” He had a point. “Put it like this, she was never neglected anyway.”

“Well I would pull her inside and get underneath her. There has to be something you haven’t tried yet. Move the pins from side to side and listen to her. If she’s making a squeeky noise then you’re on the money!”

“You reckon she needs more grease?”

“Aye, there has to be an air pocket in there somewhere that hasn’t seen grease in a while. I know it’s hard to believe. But trust me, I know her type. Maybe she has a blocked nipple.”

“How would you unblock that?” I asked.

“Don’t waste your time unblocking it. Sure nipples are dirt cheap nowadays. In fact I would replace the set. But try to give her the grease first. Maybe that’s all she wants… ”

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass. My neighbour was in a hurry to leave. But not before she stopped at our table to create a scene.

On her way out she passed Manddy who was pouring tea at another table.

“As for you,” she said as she looked her up and down. “Hmph!” Then left the diner.

My friend and I looked at each other.

Then he goes “Women! I’ll never understand them.”


Thank you for reading,


In response to


15 thoughts on “Truck Talk

  1. Pingback: Daily prompt: Work | The Wandering Poet

  2. Pingback: When It Comes To Work There Should Be One Word Above All Others – Respect | lynnesartandsoul

  3. Pingback: It’s a living | Mindful Digressions

  4. Pingback: Daily Prompt: Sixteen Tons | Nola Roots, Texas Heart

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s