There was a time when my brother was driving those 18-wheeler big ass semi trucks. Because he was a new driver he got all the lousy routes like driving through the snow belt in winter and the tiny two lane windy roads to nowhere (nowhere being a Dollar Store in By Gosh, Iowa).
My mother and father used to be quite addicted the the weather channel and would call both him and I with updates on the weather throughout the US. We learned to think twice before answering the phone because we weren't sure we had time for a 45-minute dissertation on the weather in Podunk, Alabama.
Because that wasn't dramatic enough, my parents then upped their pointless TV watching to include all sorts of random news channels. Their favorites included any sort of highway disaster. The more vehicles involved the higher their stress level went. They'd call up in a frenzy to ask if I'd heard about the 13-car pileup in Texas and ask in a panic if I knew where in the US my brother was because he wasn't answering his phone (because of the weather updates).
Usually I'd say reassuring things like, "I have no idea where he is," or point out obvious things like if he was in New Hampshire 12 hours ago when they called to warn him of light rain showers he probably wasn't in Texas now.
Eventually my brother, an incredibly social animal, figured out that long haul trucking was better suited for loners and quit. So now I never what the weather is like anywhere in the US including where I am now (because I work in an internal office in a cement box) and I never know how many cars ran into each other in Zippetydodah, Montana.
Oh well. And that's my pointless blog post for today.
The Fine Print: More stuff from Club Scrap. Alternate title for this blog post: Why My Brother Became a Stay-at-Home Son.