Archie Ralph doesn’t care. He doesn’t particularly care about his wife, or his mother, or his children. He surely doesn’t care that at a more upscale dinner for his wife’s birthday, people are looking at him with disgust as he mashes his food with his yellow teeth and then opens his mouth allowing the whole table to bask in its chewed up glory. He doesn’t take notice of the fact that his remarks on his eldest son’s weight causes the kid to push away his plate of food and not touch it again throughout the night. Nor does he mind that his unabashed rudeness to his mother-in -law makes the whole table cringe. No, Archie takes no notice of any of those things as he enjoys his dinner, oblivious to the annoyed silence that has befallen his family. And even if he did notice, he absolutely does not bat an eye.
When he spots a man in white heading purposefully towards the table with the check, he is quick to retreat, saying he’s going to heat up the car. He rushes to the car, gaining some moments of greatly desired solitude, until his family explodes into his life again, yanking open the doors and sliding onto the pleather seats. The kids are shouting, his wife is texting, and Archie angrily chews on a toothpick as he drives onto the highway. As the chattering gets louder, Archie’s chewing gets harder, until his youngest son gets poked in the rib and screams, a piercing screech that is sure to leave his little throat burning for hours. With this surprise, Archie yanks out his toothpick and throws it towards the back seat, praying it goes for an eye. The wooden spear soars through the air, one end damp and chewed, and the other sticking into the face of little Joey. More screaming ensue, a lot of laughing, and a mother shrieking. She grabs the wheel and forces the car to the side of the road, calling to her child and yelling at her husband. She climbs into the backseat, pulling at the toothpick and comforting the crying little mess, turns to Archie. “Get out!” She yells. “Get out. Come home when you’re ready to take care of this family and not spearhead the children.”
“Oh come on, he survived. Look, not even a scratch.”
But Archie’s wife yells, “Archie get the f*** out of the car,”
So Archie begrudgingly does so, not so much feeling guilty about the misdemeanor he has committed, but fretting over being stuck on the side of the road. He steps into the snow and watches his wife peel away in their faded red ‘95 Honda Civic.
S***, he thinks. It’s cold outside, piles of dirty snow pushed to the side of the road and an endless grey sky that seems to be mocking him. He kicks a pile of snow with his beat up Timberlands and raises his arm, sticking up his right thumb. The cars rush by, some in clumps, some more lonesome. But one by one they pass, and Arch, after looking down at his damp and shabby clothing, realizes he looks a little crazy and may be giving off a homeless man vibe. So he slowly lowers himself to the ground, leans against the snow, and thinking about his lunatic of a wife, his awful life and trying to figure out how he got in this mess in the first place, falls asleep. But soon, after the moon has taken the sun’s place and the sky has turned to a bitter black, Archie is awakened by the baritone honk of a truck’s horn.  He looks up to see a truck has pulled over, and the driver is looking expectantly at him. He scrambles up, and yanks open the truck door, not even considering to bear a warm smile. He nods to the man, who wears a scruffy beard, the trademark baseball hat, and looks to have had a few teeth mysteriously escape his mouth. Archie’s hands slowly gain some feeling, and he relaxes against the thick seat.
“So, where’d ya like me to drop you off?”
Archie thinks. Good question. “Well, my d------ wife has kicked me out, so just stop by the nearest motel.” he says.
The driver grunts and drives off, the trailer section of the truck swinging back and forth. He asks Archie what he did to his wife, but Archie just shrugs, saying she overreacted. And when the driver asks if he saw the Cowboys game last night, Archie says,
“If my wife talked just as much as you do, I’d have kicked her out first.” So the driver shuts up, sneaking a few looks here and there at the aging, surly little man sitting next to him.
“You know man, I was kind enough to pick your sorry --- up off the side of the highway, and now you’re gonna be rude to me? Why do I always get stuck with these people?”
Archie glares at the driver the little whiskers on Archie’s cheeks twitching as his face scrunches up. But he doesn’t answer, just tries to tune all the noise out. This only adds another log to fuel the driver’s fire, and he keeps going.
“You know, I’ve had it up to here with all of you grumpy guys who think you’ve had a rough go of it and s***. I drive trucks for long hours, through mostly crappy weather, and I go home. And, I manage to stay in a pretty good mood through it all. I bet you have a s***ty job too. Eh? But one’s gotta be good-natured if he’s gonna survive all of this. I mean really, you could have it worse. God you guys are the worst, and I’ve had enough. I should be a g-------- psychiatrist with all of this, but I really mean it, I really do. You know what I do? I hum. I can’t sing for s***, but I don’t know, humming just brings up my mood, ya know? You should try it sometime. Or whistle. Or do something. Because you people spread bad moods, I swear it’s contagious. So just snap out of it.” The trucker shakes his head, obviously proud of his speech, and looks sideways at Archie.
Archie Ralph turns to face the window, looking pensive, tries to roughly hum a few notes, but quickly starts coughing to cover it up.