I Thought It Would Be Different

I just turned 100,000 miles in my truck. And I do mean just, less than an hour ago, right on Colorado Blvd. on my way to the grocery store.
Here's a picture of the odometer, just in case you don't know what 100,000 looks like already.


   I bought the truck brand-new, and with the exception of about 800 miles when my brother-in-law and I drove from San Antonio to Pasadena, every one of those miles was under my foot. My truck and I have been through one accident (not my fault), one severe blowout, four flat tires, one replacement water pump, one replacement power steering pump, one replacement master cylinder, and several burnt-out taillight bulbs. That's not a lot of maintenance, honestly, for quite a few miles.
    Make no mistake, I've turned 100,000 miles in a car before, but never have all those miles been mine.
   Kind of anti-climactic, to tell you the truth. I did pull over to the side of the road and snap the picture with my cell phone, but... no big deal.
   I expected the heavens to open, light to shine down, and a rich baritone voice to tell me 'Job well done, young man.' Didn't happen. Nobody ambushed me with a huge novelty check, no dancing girls celebrated my arrival at the grocery store, no ribbons, no glitter, no clouds of confetti. I was at 99,999 miles in the gas station parking lot, then a mile away the odometer rolled over.
   That's it.
   I feel cheated out of some sort of celebration. Maybe I'll go to Chuck E. Cheese and crash some kid's birthday party. With my truck.