Morning and the work day was under way. Four Teamsters sat in the truck as The Van Man drove. They were all headed to Santa Barbara for a transport job. There were cars that needed to be moved down to LA. Four cars, four drivers. And a Van Man.
The drivers were all different in nature, among other things. One was Persian, one was too quiet, one was a DJ and the other was Jose. They bickered with one another and found no common ground. Except for the fact that they were all broke as hell and needed the job.
The truck weaved through 101 traffic and was almost passed Sherman Oaks when an unsightly smell whaffed throughout the vehicle. An unmistakable stench.
"Hoo, rotten egg", said the Persian as he rolled down his window.
"Alright, who did it?", asked Adolph the DJ. "Was it you, Montreal?"
"Man, I haven't eaten today so somebody up there can't control their flatulence", responded Quiet Montreal.
"What about you?", asked Adolph the DJ, pointing the question to Van Man.
It was a challenge to Van Man, he was their leader. One cannot fart and be taken seriously. And he was no farter.
"Maaan, I wish", he boldly declared.
The drivers erupted in laughter. Van Man had reasserted his power.
"Man, he's crazy!", exclaimed Adolph the DJ, the one that Van Man was sure had dealt the grotesque gas.
The odor was gone and the Teamsters continued north. The week was new and many rides were ahead. The Van Man would be glad when the day arrived in which he only had to work as an actor. Sure, people had flatulence on set just the same as Teamsters in a truck. But the pay was better. And it was art, was it not?