Dear semi truck driver,

Driver's side, front tire and wheel well liner.

Yes, the shadow sticking out taking the picture is my arm,

but just so we're clear: that is not my head above it.  It's the side mirror.

Dear semi truck driver,

When your tire exploded, thanks so much for just driving along as if a huge piece of it didn't land on the freeway directly in my path, causing me to run it over and henceforth rip out the lining of my wheel well.  The dramatic smoke and debri from your tire took up the entire freeway and blinded me, and hearing the thunk-thunk-thunk of something wrapping itself around my tire while slowing down and pulling onto the shoulder did wonders for my blood pressure.  I'm happy to report there are no blockages in my adrenal gland; the adrenaline was able to saturate my system at a top-notch rate of speed.

I especially liked that as I waited on the side of the freeway I was able to watch you, some mile in the distance, calmly changing your tire.  Your beady eyes never once looked in my direction, and I know that not because I was able to distinguish anything from that distance, but just because you got back in your truck and continued on your merry way as if nothing happened.  Yeah, that was swell.

When the officer stopped to check on me, he kept his lights going the entire time. We had such a nice chat about what happened.  It was wonderful to sit there knowing that anyone who passed by would assume I was pulled over for a routine traffic stop and getting a ticket.  Of course I didn't get a ticket.

It took an entire lovely hour for me to complete my statement and for my ride to arrive.  We ended up cutting out the piece of plastic sticking out in the picture above, and I suppose I should be grateful that I didn't have to wait even longer for a tow truck, but still . . . that's an hour of my life I'll never get back.

I'm certain there must be some subliminal reason that semitruck rhymes with cluster-ffff . . . uh, schmuck.

Yeah.  Cluster-schmuck.

That's a word, right?