Someone I know calls tow truck drivers ‘vultures.’
Somehow, the name sticks.
Earlier this week, I heard the in-the-air traffic reporter talk about an accident on the highway and ended the conversation with: ‘I can’t believe I am going to say this, but we need a tow truck driver here.’
This morning, I came to a standstill as soon as I got on the highway.
Up a head, I noticed a sea of red brake lights. I also noticed a black tow truck driver heading north, drive across the grassy medium and squeeze himself into the southbound lanes. (I would have liked to do the same but I would have gone in the opposite direction.)
Minutes later, a white tow truck driver whipped by us all travelling on the right-hand shoulder, followed closely by a second white tow truck.
When I finally reached the accident, the black tow truck was nowhere in the sight, but the two white ones were protectively wrapping the crashed vehicles.
They may be vultures, but at least I knew why I was stopped at 6:55 a.m.