Tiptoe thru the Triple T Truck Stop
There are times in our life when we live in a quagmire of misperception using our own beliefs and experiences to explain the world around us.
As a new resident in town, I was told by more than one person that the best breakfasts around were at the Triple T Truck Stop off the interstate. One day, on the way to work, I decided to stop and find out for myself.
The building was a mecca of activity with truck replacement parts, gas pumps, barbers, showers, gift shops, and the infamous restaurant called Highway Chef. The name alone sang the praises of its reputation as the maker of famous breakfasts.
Inside, the place was full of hungry truckers and those unfortunate people whom I can only describe as "broken". Grayed skin………..shabby clothing………dead expressions. I immediately felt out of place in my business blazer and dress slacks but decided to stay and get some famous breakfast.
The only open spot was at the horseshoe-shaped lunch counter. I sat down between a cowboy and a paint-splattered handyman. The heads of all the men in the horseshoe snapped to attention when I sat down. Many tipped their hats and called me ma'am. Others inquired as to how I was doing. What a friendly bunch of men, I thought to myself. I did feel fearful of the general clientele of the place and was able to relax a bit considering how nice these men seemed to be.
A gray-skinned waitress with a raspy whiskey voice and smokers cough took my order for famous breakfast and splashed some grungy coffee in my cup. A man directly across the horseshoe from me was staring curiously. His eyes twinkled and his smile was infectious. He asked me if I came there often, wondered if I was happily married, what I did for a living. Several of the other men asked similar questions. Wow, these guys are nice, I thought. I was a little embarrassed being the only woman in the horseshoe and getting lavished with so much attention. Must be that truckers are lonely and miss talking to women, I told myself. I joined in on the laughter and silliness that resulted from the exchange. The raspy-voiced waitress even cracked a few jokes with us. I was having a wonderful time with my new trucker buddies.
Before too long, my famous breakfast was eaten and it was time to leave. More hat tipping, more chivalry, and one even walked me to my car.
As I drove down the interstate, I was reveling in the friendliness of such a scary looking bunch of men. I realized how my misconceptions foreshadowed how I predicted they would behave.
I was so charmed by their unexpected behavior that I told some friends about my experience. One of them, a former trucker himself started chuckling quietly to himself.
What? I begged him to tell me what was so damn funny.
'Sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but the boys thought you were a whore!'
'No way!' I cried. 'They were so nice.'
'Well of course they were, they wanted to take you to their trucks for a little fun. If you had looked out the window of the Highway Chef, you would have seen ladies jumping out of one truck and into the next. That place is known for rampant prostitution. Everybody knows that single women don't sit at the front counter. It's like a calling card, darlin'.'
Arrrrrrrrgh! I didn't know. I was naïve. I felt like one of those clueless girls from the farm who goes into the big bad city and completely misunderstands the world around her.
I once again reflected that I had formed misconceptions about these men who I had read one way, but who turned out to be yet another.
The now infamous Triple T Truck Stop featuring the Highway Chef and famous breakfasts, should have been more appropriately named the Triple X Truck Stop.
Now when people ask me who serves up the best breakfast in town, I send them to Denny's.
