August 17, 2009
The Guy With the Sweet Truck I went out to dinner in Boulder with a friend of mine on Saturday night, and as I was elegantly shoving an entire piece of salmon avocado roll into my mouth, an old acquaintance appeared out of the shadows of Hapa and proceeded to interrupt me as loudly as I do believe is possible in a moderately upscale restaurant. I made with the generally meaningless chit-chat—‘how have you been,’ ‘where are you living,’ ‘what are you up to’—for a moment or two, rudely facing away from my dinner date. When this acquaintance asked me if there were any employment hookups I could work for her (or her friend, of course), I got a little short and wished her well. A few moments later it happened again. I could have sworn I didn’t know many people in Boulder anymore, but apparently (and at this point, unfortunately) there seem to be quite a few left. The second and third acquaintances pulled me through the same motions and ended with a similar question about working and handouts, and by this point my friend had begun to notice. Finally, the restaurant started to empty. We stuck around to speak with a friend just finishing up her work as a hostess—who miraculously has also inquired about working with me—and when she came down to talk to me while I finished my drink, she said: “You’re like that guy with the sweet truck.” I didn’t understand at first; I drive a small SUV and have never called it, nor will I ever call it “a truck.” The guy with the truck, she explained, is someone everyone wants to talk to. Not so much for their personality or their general attractiveness, but for the big-ticket item they walk around flaunting to everyone who can see it. I argued that I don’t flaunt my job at all. In fact, I tend to try and avoid talking about work when I’m not at work…it’s one of the ways I can help myself in enjoying the time I spend at the office. But she corrected me, saying that even though I don’t talk nuts and bolts all the time, it just so happens that I’m best known for whatever it is that I do. My job is my sweet truck, and everybody just wants to ride shotgun. It was a little bittersweet hearing that. I don’t have so much as a personality with which to rope people in, but my job makes me approachable, valuable, and seemingly exploitable. I think I’d rather just be a nice guy who people like to hang out with.

The Guy With the Sweet Truck

I went out to dinner in Boulder with a friend of mine on Saturday night, and as I was elegantly shoving an entire piece of salmon avocado roll into my mouth, an old acquaintance appeared out of the shadows of Hapa and proceeded to interrupt me as loudly as I do believe is possible in a moderately upscale restaurant. I made with the generally meaningless chit-chat—‘how have you been,’ ‘where are you living,’ ‘what are you up to’—for a moment or two, rudely facing away from my dinner date. When this acquaintance asked me if there were any employment hookups I could work for her (or her friend, of course), I got a little short and wished her well.

A few moments later it happened again. I could have sworn I didn’t know many people in Boulder anymore, but apparently (and at this point, unfortunately) there seem to be quite a few left. The second and third acquaintances pulled me through the same motions and ended with a similar question about working and handouts, and by this point my friend had begun to notice.

Finally, the restaurant started to empty. We stuck around to speak with a friend just finishing up her work as a hostess—who miraculously has also inquired about working with me—and when she came down to talk to me while I finished my drink, she said: “You’re like that guy with the sweet truck.”

I didn’t understand at first; I drive a small SUV and have never called it, nor will I ever call it “a truck.”

The guy with the truck, she explained, is someone everyone wants to talk to. Not so much for their personality or their general attractiveness, but for the big-ticket item they walk around flaunting to everyone who can see it.

I argued that I don’t flaunt my job at all. In fact, I tend to try and avoid talking about work when I’m not at work…it’s one of the ways I can help myself in enjoying the time I spend at the office. But she corrected me, saying that even though I don’t talk nuts and bolts all the time, it just so happens that I’m best known for whatever it is that I do. My job is my sweet truck, and everybody just wants to ride shotgun.

It was a little bittersweet hearing that. I don’t have so much as a personality with which to rope people in, but my job makes me approachable, valuable, and seemingly exploitable.

I think I’d rather just be a nice guy who people like to hang out with.

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