Not for the Orthopedically Queasy
I just received an excited and confused call from my employee, Steve.
I don't fully understand what happened as I wasn't there, but I'll give you the sequence of events as I understand it.
It was 8:00 on the very night you guys talked to him, and it was rainy and wet and dark, and Steve was going out to get a milkshake.
He was backing out of the driveway and concentrating on the art of proper clutching.
Instead of his usual, "get the truck up to 3500 rpm and let the clutch out 1/16th of an inch at a time," he was trying to keep the rpm low, and let the clutch out quickly.
He was concentrating so hard on his technique that he neglected to look into his rear view mirror and didn't notice that his neighbor had parked right behind him on the driveway.
He slammed on the brakes just in time, and narrowly avoided running into his neighbor's car.
He jumped out of the truck to look for a way to get around the car, but forgot to put on the parking brake.
The truck started rolling down the incline.
He tried to jump back in the truck to get his right foot on the brake. But he lost his footing and slipped.
The truck stopped just short of his left leg but not before the tire rolled over the cuff of his pants, pinning him on the ground, in the rain and the dark.
Faced with a choice between dropping his trousers and yelling for help, he opted to yell for help.
All this time, his dog, a black and white Boston terrier, had moved into the driver's seat and is looking down at him wondering what the hell he's doing!
The neighbor finally came out and drove the truck off his pant leg and freed him.
He revved the engine up to 3500 rpm, let out the clutch slowly, and went to get his milkshake.
Perhaps you really can't teach an old dog a new trick.