Sacre Bleu, Laissez les Bon Temps Roulette Frere Jacque.
French truck drivers just went up a big notch on my “sacre bleu” rating scale.
In the U.S. long haul drivers just get hopped up on some loopy-loo concoction and hope the road kill is of the four legged kind.
Ah, but in the Souse of Frahnce, my little bichon frise, the road
warriors lovers have devised a clever way to pass the time while behind the wheel.
They watch television.
When traffic is not too dense, the driver sets the truck on cruise control and puts its right wheels on the band that marks the edge of the hard shoulder. These are often ribbed and are meant to create a noise to alert sleepy drivers that they are heading off the road.
The driver then steers by sound, leaving him free to watch a DVD, play a game or read, witnesses say.
Hell yeah, I say. Those zany French truck drivers are one clever bunch. Zipping along the highway in the middle of the night, there’s not much traffic, the rumble of the shoulder gives you an audio clue as to what’s right or not. Go for it, Frere Jacques.
While the French cops were complaining about the driving, they also heard from the hommes complaining about something else.
Another practice is upsetting maintenance workers: Drivers who avoid pitstops by urinating into bottles and throwing them out the window. “We are picking up big quantities of bottles of urine from the ditches,” Romain Fronteau, head of the Cofiroute highway company.
Get over it, every guy has pee’d in a bottle or can and heaved it. If they start heaving bags of Le Doo-doo, then you can complain.
A tip of the beret to our French cousins. Watch for this trend to hit our shores faster than you can say Pepe LePew.
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Like I always say, “Les routiers sont sympa”!
Thanks for a fabulous chuckle, and remind me not to drive on the French highways at night.
@Polly: glad you enjoyed it. translation please.
It’s not like I don’t have compassion for those truck drivers and their need to relieve themselves; but I’d hate to have one of those missiles fly by my head or into my windshield late at night. They must sing their own version of ‘100 Bottles of Beer.’