One recent Saturday, we were predispatched on a job that didn't pick up until the next day, giving us a whole 24 hours or so to whilst away as we wished. Since I'd been peering cockeyed through my badly scratched glasses for quite some time, the first agenda item was an eye exam and new specs.
In the waiting room, I sat next to a friendly guy who turned out to be a regional tanker driver. After sharing gripes about bad auto drivers, HOS rule changes, and union dock workers, he laughed and blurted: "Just don't eat Crystal."
Crystal? "Crystal hot sauce. Dirty operation. Really bad. The other stuff is fine - Tabasco and some other local brands. Not Crystal, though." He laughed again.
I'd never heard of it, so I wasn't too concerned.
And then, just a few days later, we stopped at a roadside restaurant in a small town in Alabama. Lo and behold, Crystal:
We did not partake of the Crystal. Not even a touch of it to satisfy powerful curiosity. Because you never, ever doubt the tanker driver.