Having traded farm trucks last week, I was tasked with the chore of cleaning out my old truck before taking it back to the dealer to swap for the new one. I know that it doesn’t sound like much of a job…unless you’ve seen the inside of my truck.
I have always taken my truck to the carwash in town, once each year, whether it needs it or not. It’s not unusual to see the more experienced carwash attendants run in the opposite direction when they see me pull in, or at the very least, beg their supervisor for a bathroom break. A year’s worth of grime, mud, and manure will do that to the best. Keep in mind, however, they just clean the exterior. I don’t want anyone messing with the interior; I have a "system" and I don’t want anyone upsetting the apple cart.
Inventorying my "system" I found nine gloves. Not four and a half pairs, mind you, but NINE different gloves. I don’t know how that happens. I also found a dozen, used, disposable syringes, most of which, were not capped, and two old darts that I had recovered from using the medical dart-gun…ouch, again. By this time, I put on two of the unmatched gloves to continue the cleaning.
I also found: my lariat that I knew was behind the seat, but also three different lengths of rope and/or twine that I have no idea of why they were there; an extra lug wrench that did not come with the truck; half a roll of baling wire; a nylon tow rope and three other nylon tie-down straps, complete with hand winches; a come-along, log chain, and five OB straps (four of which were tied in knots, making them pretty much unusable this year); half a box of welding rods; fencing pliers, and two regular pliers; two screwdrivers (one standard and one Phillip’s); a feed-store cap that had never been worn; a rifle, pistol, and three boxes of ammunition; four padlocks that were locked and no sign of the keys that fit them, anywhere; one-third of a bottle of whiskey (you just never know when you’re going to have to revive a newborn calf that’s chilled). All of the above was found behind the seat in a regular cab truck. On to the glove box and console.
In those compartments, I found enough old receipts from the feed store to make IRS auditors pull out their hair, 10 proof-of- insurance cards, a bottle of aspirin with an expiration date of 1993, about 20 scraps of paper with illegible phone numbers for hay haulers, cattle haulers, log haulers, and the after-hours number for the vet. I also found rolls of electricians’ tape, duct tape, and scotch tape, plus a bottle of super glue. An obsolete phone charger was also found, which fit the flip-phone I last owned 10 years ago, and enough trash to mostly fill a 13-gallon trash bag.
After I thought the cleaning job was complete, I used a flashlight (also found) to look under the seat and I was thrilled to find the small plastic bag of zip-ties that I spent an entire morning, searching for, two summers ago, eight ink pens (none of which worked), and a small treasure of $7.17 in change.
I’m thinking I should use the newfound wealth to invest in a new "system."
Crownover is a cattle rancher in southwest Missouri.