“You’re forgetting, Dennis, that I am an educated man. I know a thing or two about wisdom and enlightenment and Nirvana. I once took a course in World Religions.” This was true, up to a point. At one time early in his adult life, when he was between employment opportunities, Benny had enrolled in an institution of higher learning, where he had signed up for an evening class in World Religions. He had stayed the course until the first machine-graded exam, after which he concluded that he could do a better job of improving his mind than any community college in the State of Arkansas. So he returned to the trucking life, borrowing books from libraries and book stores and supermarkets and devouring them during those moments when he wasn’t driving or eating or entertaining waitresses and waifs. Bright took a quick peek at his watch. “And that’s idea number one?” he asked, referring to Benny’s offer to do the news. “That’s idea number one. Would you like a sample?” “We’re going with number two.” “What’s wrong with number one?” “I just told you. John already does the news.” “So? We switch shows. I do the news, our young, handsome friend does ‘John’s Jonquils.’ The ratings for the evening news skyrocket, the ratings for the gardening show remain at their pre- sent modest level. A net gain.” “You’re forgetting one thing.” Benny nodded wisely. “Ah yes. John’s allergic to plants.” “That’s probably true, but it’s beside the point.” “Which is?” “Which is, John’s father-in-law owns the damn station. The old man wants his sonin-law in that particular slot.” “Because he can read,” guessed Benny. “That’s part of it.” “The other part being, reading’s about the only thing he can do.” “You said it. I didn’t.” Benny groaned, probably because his heart had been set on doing the news. “Idea number two. ‘Truck Talk.’” “‘Truck Talk’?” Bright was drawing a blank. Benny explained. “There was once a radio program called ‘Car Talk.’ Maybe you’ve heard of it.” “Can’t say that I have. What was the hook?” “A couple of crazies fielded questions from motorists who wanted to know why their vehicles made strange noises.” “Yeah?” Bright’s curiosity was aroused. “You know, my Infiniti’s been—” “Unfortunately,” Benny interrupted, “they never got around to explaining the strange noises.” “You mean those guys didn’t answer the questions?” “Right. We the people, who have a sacred right to know, were never informed.” “So what was the point?” “The point was to produce smiles and laughter, which tended to delight, folly, cynicism, and riotous driving.”
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