No, this isn’t a Prius commercial. I couldn’t care less about fuel economy or battery gigawatts. This is about sharing.
For my 16th birthday I got a 1998 Chevrolet S10. It was white with an extended bed and a Cricket camper top.
I got a truck to a) transport music equipment and b) not transport friends. Also c) because, parents.
At first everything was great. It was 2006 so gas was still less than $1 bajillion per gallon and my favorite suburban spots were close to home. Yes, Chipotle and Starbucks.
Party after party, late night gas station trip after… gas station trip, I was excluded from all ride-share considerations. The typical context is a parking lot or driveway, friends gathered, each judging the others’ human value by the number of seat belts in our cars.
Time and again I was poked fun at for my truck. Let’s call her Sally. “Ryan has a truck named Sally and he’s soo stupid ZOMG. I think I’m going to apply for college out-of-state…”
It was amazing.
Until it happened. August 2008. Dorm move-in day.
Compact cars and Rubbermaid’s everywhere were running out of room for photos, socks, and airbrushed t-shirts. It would take two trips.
Or, it would take a truck.
Immediately my parking lot youth was restored. Friends and acquaintances were building their arsenals of SMS message limits. Every Taco Bell run and on-a-whim beach trip I had strategically averted… this was the day of reckoning.
Ryan’s Vehicular Injustice
A prudent quality
2006-2008
RIP
So I obliged. I moved beds. Dressers. Rube Goldberg projects. Box springs. WTF is a box spring?
After my debts were paid, I sold the truck.
Actually I totaled the truck and got a settlement, but chronologically this is true.
As Spiderman’s grandpa so eloquently reminds us, “With great power comes great responsibility.”
Which empowers an original heuristic: Don’t buy a truck.
Don’t buy a truck unless you’re ready to move. Unless you’re ready to be “that guy with a truck who is probably free on Saturday because he doesn’t have any friends.”
Because when you buy a truck, or become an MD, or win the lottery, people who need boxes and medicine and money will find you. They have tiny antenna behind their burning ears that tell them exactly where you are.
There is nothing you can do to prevent this, but you can prepare for it. You can acknowledge that we are a dependent species. That there is no such thing as a selfless act. How everything that goes around… comes around.
And that’s ok.
In fact, the Sharing Economy of the 21st century has indulged this sentiment to the tune of billions of dollars in new, niche markets. In 2014 and beyond we can drive cars, live in houses, wear sharp suits, have personal assistants, and collect music and movies without owning a single thing. It’s incredible. But it doesn’t come without risk.
So the mistake isn’t buying a truck. It’s thinking you’re getting it to a) transport equipment and b) not transport friends.
In reality, you will always c) be called upon to share.