The average vehicle is about 13.5 feet. My truck, whom I have dubbed “George,” is 18.2 feet. So now that you know, physically my truck is longer, on average, by half of another vehicle’s length. And while the truck has its benefits, usually it is a small, private hell for me here at SMU.
Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. But think about all those little quick moves you can pull in and out of traffic; I don’t get to do those. Think of all the compact car spaces you get to squeeze into; I couldn’t fit there if I tried.
Everything I do must be given extra time and berth. And while I can try to give you as much notice as possible (believe me, I use my turning signal religiously), you still have to respect the size of the truck.
The other day, I was rolling out of the commuter lot. I looked up and down the street, observed the lane I would be getting in, and proceeded to get in the lane to turn down Airline. The second I pulled out, a car zipped toward me coming from the opposite lane. It was a certain political science professor who shall not be named, but let’s say he wasn’t very happy with my choice of vehicular maneuver.
Now, I’m not going to say anyone is at fault; I’m just going to say that maybe you should be a bit more considerate of the larger truck.
Because let’s say he did run recklessly into my vehicle. Mine probably would’ve been much better off than his. Mine is built for the rough and tumble. If the zombie apocalypse ever happens, my truck is going to be much more useful because of its durability (as well as its large bed for carrying supplies).
But back to the point at hand: you have to be aware of the extra time needed to carry out certain things in a truck.
And I’m not saying that this inherently makes you a bad driver. It just makes you a liability on the road.
Take braking, for example. My truck is larger, and therefore has more momentum when it gets going. If I’m being cautious, I’m going to slow down long before a stoplight or stop sign because I have that extra momentum and also am not too fond of ruining my brake pads prematurely. The person behind me may not be paying attention, texting or fiddling with something, and wham! We have ourselves
a problem.
Not to mention the extra caution I have to take while I’m turning and I have an extra five feet of truck behind me; meanwhile, two cars executed the same turn I was.
But now I suppose it’s time for my confession: I love my truck anyway. I’ve had the thing since I was 16, its miles-per-gallon sucks, it is very unforgiving, I cannot start to park anywhere before having a mini heart attack about trying to fit, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Norwood is a sophomore majoring in political science and philosophy.
