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| I'm writing about the big guys, not the little ones. |
Pickups Are Talking
By Glenn Lehman
Pickups are trying to tell me something. What exactly? I have no idea. But they’re relentless—on the highway, in town, at the mall, even in the church parking lot. Their oversized grills gleam and glare at me. I keep trying to figure it out.
Is it political, like, “the environment’s just a conspiracy”? Maybe they’re plum tired of feeling guilty about everything. "Let’s jump in the truck and head for the hills!" Or is it about privatization—each person for themselves? Maybe it’s psychological—sitting in a truck makes me happier than sitting in church? Or is it just another fad, like muscle cars, hot rods, and minivans? Maybe it’s cultural war. Maybe Americans just love big things?
Pickups are big. When a four-door crew cab parks next to me, I have to back out on blind faith because I can’t see around the beast. Their giant steps up to the cab make me feel insignificant. And the sound? Equally massive. At home, they roar down my country road, vertical tailpipes blazing, tires groaning like it’s rodeo night all over again.
Then there’s the price. A full-size new pickup averages around $60,000. Filling up the tank can set you back nearly a hundred bucks. Pickup owners are fine folks, but sometimes I wonder—did they bite off more than they can chew? Four doors when one would do, two tons of steel to take one guy down to the mini-mart for a quart of milk. And that 4x4 bed? Always empty—not even a dog back there barking. I bet this guy votes capitalist but lives like a socialist.
I know. The trucks have advantages. They bring home Christmas trees in December. They plow snow in the winter. My little sedan’s not doing that. If we ever went to war, I could see them hauling families out of combat zones—until they run out of gas. If there’s a hurricane, they could transport food. Pickups can be practical. But isn’t there a political undertone? Are they trying to tell me they won?
Well, they’re right. Pickups did win. Not the rusty old jalopies Grandpa used to drive around the farm, but the two-ton behemoths of today. They may be outrageously expensive, their carbon footprint may be horrendous, and they rarely pick anything up—but everyone loves them. There are nearly 50 million on the road, and last year, 2.6 million new ones joined the pack.
I’ll give them some credit—they make people happy. And with all that power and bed space jiggling around empty, there’s potential. Say the average bed is 48 x 96 inches—that’s 32 square feet. Multiply that by 50 million trucks, and you’ve got 574 square miles of bed space. That's enough to load up half of Rhode Island and move it to Delaware, which could use a little more land anyway. Hey, our church’s disaster aid team could think of something.
If pickups ever ask for my opinion, I have something ready to say: Jesus rode a donkey when he could’ve had a horse. Stop going so fast and waking up the babies. Use mass transportation. Don’t put up a flag back there—I haven’t forgotten which country I’m in. Sell the truck before its value goes any lower. Use the money for a spiritual director or a therapist until you’ve worked through this truck obsession. You could make a down payment on a house and throw in an e-bike for good measure.
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