While recently driving a 4WD with no radio reception and only the homoerotic chatter of truck drivers on the CB radio to entertain me, I was reminded of an intense moment of childhood terror. My parents bought me a pair of walkie-talkies when I turned 8. Sure, these weren't high-grade gadgets and you had to be in the same room as the other person when you used them but they looked snazzy. I’d often hear truckers chattering amongst the static and on hot nights I’d lie awake and listen to them tell lewd but hilarious jokes. One afternoon I was showing my friends how to use the walkie-talkies when we heard several truckers shooting the breeze. For some reason, I decided to chat with them. Instead of saying hello, I spoke loudly in the best “grown-up” voice I could muster.
MAYDAY! MY PLANE IS ABOUT TO CRASH! HELP ME!
I stifled a snort of laughter and looked at my horrified friends who gawked at me like I’d just run over their cat. The walkie-talkie then burped to life with questions from the truckers.
What’s that mate, your plane is about to crash?
Someone call the police!
What did that young lady say?
What had I done? I spent every night for the next month waiting for a story in the news of juvenile delinquents faking plane crashes. I was certain the police would burst into our house and I’d be frogmarched out the door. I spent many nights wondering if the police would let me take my walkie-talkies to prison.
10-4. The food is really bad in here and I miss my mum.