Until this summer, I had never operated a standard commercial motor vehicle. I was scared to death of driving. Some see the driver’s seat as a gateway to freedom and independence, but I only ever saw an adjustable, plush, polyester-covered ticket to the afterlife. Every squirrel daintily skipping in the distance was a grim reaper in disguise, waiting to send me careening into a ditch. Every approaching car may as well have been my own hearse.
