Gnat nightmares, spider sadness, moth madness, ant anxiety, bug barrage—ok I’ll stop now.

I’m not a fan of bugs. Generally speaking, unless you’re an entomologist or earthy-crunchy type, you probably aren’t either. I’m not terrified of them by any means, I’m not liable to stop what I’m doing if a bug decides to drop by and say hey, but I’m still likely to exterminate them all with extreme prejudice before going to sleep. After all, nobody is trying to eat spiders whilst slumbering. I’m happy to say that I haven’t had any full-blown infestations recently, though it hasn’t always been the case.

Every once in a while, life will challenge you with a question. Not only does this question require an answer, but regardless of the choice you make, you know that it will have a profound impact on your life. Thankfully, it is infrequently that we are burdened with such decisions, but we must still be vigilant so that we may ponder and puzzle and appropriately pick a plan when the need arises. Recently, one of these decisions was thrust upon my shoulders, and it came to me in the following form:

I enjoy living in a truck. It’s simple and efficient, it’s a choice I made and intend to stand by. I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m proud of living a truck, but I certainly don’t have a problem telling people about it (as evident by the fact that this blog exists). When I meet new people, it normally comes up as a matter of course, and I’m more than happy to talk about it and all the quirky things that come with it. That said, this installment of Tips from the Truck is concerned with knowing when truck talk is not appropriate, namely in the workplace.

Traffic is a strange beast. Sometimes it comes from nowhere at all, wreaking unspeakable havoc on your itinerary, eviscerating your plans with startling efficiency. Other times it’s entirely expected, and entirely unavoidable. In any case, nobody particular enjoys traffic (I certainly don’t), it’s an environmental tragedy, and it’s ruthlessly wasteful. By all accounts, traffic is a Bad Thing™.

Call it schadenfreude if you want, but on days when I’m not up at the crack of dawn, there’s nothing I love more than rolling out of bed at my leisure, lazing my way to the gym, hopping on a treadmill and watching the brutal commute thousands and thousands of people are enduring. It’s especially glorious because a large percentage of these people are, at a snail’s pace, traveling to exactly where I already am. And it only took me 5 minutes to get here. My co-worker came in today exhausted because commuting from his house, a 15 minute stroll not during rush hours, took him a whopping hour and a half this morning, for no reason in particular. It’s especially tragic because he still has a commute home to look forward to, which will undoubtedly be plagued by the same atrocities. I don’t have the constitution or resolve to handle such a soul-crushing experience on a twice-daily basis, but power to everyone who does.

As a forewarning, this post doesn’t ^really provide tips on how to be invisible, it’s more of an observation of human nature.

One of my biggest stressors when I was considering living in a van, as is undoubtedly evident from my earlier posts, was my unshakable fear that I was going to be caught, arrested, or otherwise reprimanded. I was worried that I wouldn’t be discreet enough, or I’d make some grave mistake one day, or anything but a perfectly executed ninja-esque routine would spell my end. One too many loud creaks at night, not closing the back gate quietly enough, climbing out at the exact wrong time, parking in the wrong place, etc, the ways I could screw things up seemed limitless. But a fortuitous combination of rote observation and apparent realization led me to the following declaration: