Under the Wire

I’ll never have to make up stories as long as I have friends. My friend received a card in the mail last month asking if he would participate in a survey evaluating new pickups. They offered to pay him if he would look over the various models and give them his opinions. What in the world were they thinking, anyway?

He jumped at the chance, of course. Offering to pay any guy to look at new pickups is like being asked to judge a bikini contest. If he happens to be married ... well, let’s just say he will be much more welcome back home if it was pickups he spent the afternoon looking at. It was a logical choice to ask him, although how they found out about his legendary pickup use and abuse surprised him and me!

On the designated day, he arrived at the address on his “invitation.” Fully expecting someone to try to sell him a condo in Florida, he was surprised to find a legitimate consumer survey group with a building full of every make and model of new pickups made. It was a good thing my friend was in top physical shape because such a sight might have stopped the heart of a lesser man. All thoughts of the Swedish Bikini Team vanished from his mind as his eyes drifted lovingly over row after row of compact, mid-sized and full sized pickups.

A supervisor met him at the door and explained the procedure. They would move down each row of pickups and my friend was to give his opinion and suggestions on each one. This is where the process began to go South, so to speak. Asked what he thought of the first one, he shook his head and grumbled “Not much.”

“What’s wrong with this one? “ the worried supervisor asked.

“Wouldn't pull my hay trailer,” friend replied.

“How much hay do you haul at one time?” supervisor asked skeptically.

“About 12 tons,” was the reply.

“12 tons! You can’t do that with a pickup,” supervisor gasped.

“We do it all the time,” my friendly pickup abuser answered. Supervisor made some notes on the clipboard he was carrying.

“What about the dashboard on this model?” supervisor asked at the next one.

“It’s not big enough to hold all my bottles of vaccine, wrenches and ear tags,” came the response.

“But it has a six C.D. player,” the exasperated helper pointed out.

“Only have one George Strait C.D.,” was the answer.

How do you like the carpet on this model?” was the question as they moved on. “And by the way, Sir, would you mind not getting in this one? Your boots have something green all over them.”

“Always do,” friend grumbled, “why would I want a pickup I can’t get in with my boots on?”

Quickly, they worked through the line of trucks, with the supervisor asking fewer and fewer questions.

As they reached the end of the line he handed my long-time acquaintance his “participation” check.

“Is there any one pickup here you like?” he asked friend.

“Yep, mine out there in the parking lot,” he smiled. “It’s paid for.”