Division Essay (2nd attempt)

Only a fellow commuter could possibly know how I live. I have become a modern gypsy. I eat, conduct business, sometimes sleep and basically live out of my pick-up truck. Traveling an hour inland every day for work and school from a small town on Maine’s coast has proven to be a challenge. I have learned to think ahead and bring anything and everything I may need. If anyone dared to look in my vehicle, the trash, clutter, and other pieces of my existence that gather on my floorboards, seats, and in the truck bed would make my lifestyle obvious. As I park at the local car wash this morning, I pulled the Chevy right up next to the giant vacuum that looks like the robot from lost in space. I begin to remove and vacuum up, all the discarded items that have found their final resting place located on my floor mats and shoved up under the bucket seats. Little shreds off cellophane with the number 5 imprinted on them are scattered across the floor like carcasses. My favorite new gum. Its name is the number 5 and not only is it tasty, but it works great for the unfortunate side-effect of my morning coffee run. This of course leads appropriately to the next discovery. Two thermal coffee cups that never made their way back to my kitchen, and three Styrofoam ones. A vessel for each day of the week. Next to my cylindrical crutches and gum wrappers, crumpled up in the same fashion, are the many receipts. Some are from the bank giving out my unfortunate account balance, but they are mostly from gas stations, thanking me for my purchase of over-priced Arabian gasoline.
As I finish up with the floorboard graveyard, my eyes focus on the back seat. It’s covered with a faded old sheet with a paisley print. The poor guy just didn’t make it in the linen closet anymore and is now damned to its current existence. The make-shift seat cover is anything but form fitting and within in its wrinkles and folds, I can see perhaps hundreds of sunflower seeds hiding like tiny insects. The seed infestation is a sign of my other habit. When I’m not chewing my number 5 I have to keep busy with Planters sunflower seeds. Working on construction sites constantly, I have come across guys who have every habit ranging from cigarettes to chewing tobacco. I think these activities are pretty disgusting but can relate. The seeds are my crutch. They are just as addictive but don’t smell nearly as bad. As I continue to clean I come to the end of the bench seat. Here is the eighth wonder of the world. The leaning tower of text books. Completing my last semester of college, I currently take 22 credits of classes. This basically adds up to 1 ½ metric tons of books, binders, and folders. Living so far from my school, it’s not like I can run home if I need a certain paper so I bring it all with me. These tools of knowledge are necessary but are like carrying around the weight of a toddler. Thank god they don’t need a car seat.
Now that I’ve gutted out the interior, it’s time to head back to the bed. Anyone that has ever owned a pick-up is well aware that keeping the bed free of debris is nearly impossible. It is just too tempting to launch any abandoned object back there. Like I said earlier, I work in construction and have gathered quite a collection of random tools. Never knowing when I may need a certain device, I keep them all with me. Shovels, rakes, and other hand tools are all nestled together. Mixed in here and there are wooden grade stakes, rope, spray paint, and random containers. If a construction emergency goes down, I’ll be the man of the hour. In front of the bed is another back hole known as the tool box. Its chrome, diamond-plated finish gives no indication of the tornado within. Jackets, rain gear, ratchet straps, a chainsaw, a fishing pole, and the list goes on and on. The boy scouts preparedness has nothing on me.
So as embarrassing as it is, I have described the trash can I drive around. At least at this moment, it is clean and organized. It should stay that way for at least a day or two. The funny thing about my situation is that I really hate clutter. It only took a few times of not having the book, tool, or rain jacket for me to get over my need to be basic and bare. Soon enough school will be a memory, I’ll have a cushy supervisor job that doesn’t require carrying a hardware store with me and hopefully I won’t be going through a tank of gas every couple of days. Next time you see a car with crap filling up the back window or someone stepping out of there van, followed by a trail of wrappers, think to yourself, they probably are a complete slob or maybe they’re just one of the poor souls who call themselves a commuter.