Human beings didn't become the dominant lifeforms on the planet by being rigid and inflexible in the face of change. We're able to adapt, when we receive similar stimuli over and over again, we react to it more and more efficiently and effectively each time. Naturally, these stimuli come in an endless procession, in innumerable forms. On a physical, nearly tangible level, repeated stresses on our bodies build muscle mass so that we're better equipped to handle these stresses in the future. Biologically, our bodies learn to handle repeated threats by developing antigens after the first encounter. Socially, we modify our habits to fit in with our habitats. When we uproot our lives and move to other locations we learn local customs over time, and our interactions with our environment become more fluid over time. My situation is no different, and I'm definitely noticing the ways I've adjusted, both consciously and unconsciously, to my environment.

I noticed it earlier tonight, while I was getting ready for bed. I threw open the back gate of the truck, a now-familiar cacophony that I've come to associate with home. I tossed my gym bag in first with a loud thud and some clanging, and then I hopped in. As has become ritual, I started flipping through the music catalog on my phone looking for an accompaniment to my routine. Once I found something good, I plopped the phone onto my bed and started unpacking and re-packing my bag. I pulled off all my work clothes, dumped them into my laundry bag, and put on some pajamas. I'm presently laying in bed, listening to the playlist I picked out, and writing this post.

Now contrast that with my first night. It's only been three months, but it turns out acclimating to a new routine happens pretty quickly. The body craves consistency, and is definitely much more comfortable when it doesn't have to work too hard to maintain homeostasis. On my first night, I was a nervous wreck. The whole evening leading up to it was torturous. I was still grappling with the idea of not having a fixed home, full of concerns about my relatively unknown environment, and futilely trying to process the constant information overload. When I was within sight of the truck, I became paranoid and uncomfortable, my eyes darting around like everyone was onto me. I scurried across the lot with my heart racing at a hundred miles a minute, and I didn't even start unlocking the back gate until I had convinced myself I was the only person in a 10 mile radius. Similarly, opening the back gate happened at a slower pace than tectonic plate movement, and I winced at each and every loud, unavoidable creak. Once inside, I crept around like a field mouse, and listened intently to the silence of the surrounding area for minutes before I even considered getting undressed. My whole routine for getting ready was awkward and inefficient, tip-toeing back and forth, treating the squeaky floorboards like landmines. It took more than twice as long as it does now, and was just all around not well-tuned for the situation.

But that's the power of adaptation. It doesn't even require a concerted effort on the part of the adapter, sometimes the driving force is just a subconscious desire for a better plan of action. It's a powerful tool against all shades of strife and adversity, a weapon so graciously bestowed upon humankind by a few billion years of fighting against our environments. It's certainly a reassuring thought, at least for me, that time is all it takes.

I knew the day would come eventually. In one of my first posts, I mentioned a guy who was doing something similar to what I'm doing now. His observation was that security personnel at these large companies doesn't care how insane you are if you work at the company and aren't hurting anyone. Last night, I had my first run in with company security. What follows is my experience.

It's almost 1 am, I just got out of a movie with a few friends. The movie was mediocre at best, certainly nothing special. I drive my house back to my usual parking place at the edge of a company lot, as I normally do. I grab my bag of toiletries and head into a nearby building to brush my teeth and wash my face. As I walk out, I pass a security car. They linger for a minute, and then drive off. I don't think much of it. After a short traipse across the lot, I hop into my car, put on my pajamas, and go to sleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Is there anyone in there?

It's 2 am, and I'm pretty disoriented. I try to compose myself and quietly reply, "Yes, one second." After stumbling around in the dark for a few seconds, I find a sweatshirt and throw it on. Opening up the back gate and going outside, I'm greeted by approximately 10 security personnel, pointing flashlights in various directions, standing by a variety of security vehicles. They explain to me that one of them saw me get into the back of the car, and when they ran my plate against the company database, the information didn't match up. Apparently I'd registered the car as a Chevrolet Econoline in the company's internal system, when in reality it was a Ford.* I offer to move my truck, but they tell me I'm fine, and even that I have a "sweet setup". I hand one of them my corporate badge and make weird truck-related small talk with the rest as they confirm with the security dispatcher that I am indeed an employee. It felt like an eternity, but the whole interaction took place over the course of less than 5 minutes. They tell me to have a nice night, and even apologize for waking me up.

After explaining the situation to a friend they were "glad the interaction with security has happened, went well and [is] over," a sentiment I share. Like I said, it was inevitable, and I'm actually pretty surprised that it took three months to happen. But now that I know for sure I'm not being banished or shunned at a corporate level for my truck lifestyle, I can rest that much easier.

*_{I checked after and they were totally right, my bad. "Chevrolet Econoline" isn't even a real vehicle.}

_{Note: I wrote most of this post immediately after it happened. Like, literally as the cars were driving away at 2 am.}

...or at least drive Class B vehicles. Also, as it turns out, licenses have a lot of personal information on them, and I've done my darnedest to remove any fun details, like where I "live".

Anyways, I've finally done it. For those who don't understand why this is exciting for me, let me give you a bit of background.

The Backstory

I drove buses in college. It was the highest-paying job on campus, which is what initially drew me towards it. But it was the flexibility, fun coworkers, and quick promotion to programmer that kept me there. The deal was that they'd pay you while training you to get your CDL license, and in return you'd drive for them for a few semesters at the very least, which as I mentioned in this post, is a pretty sweet deal. So I did my shtick driving buses and writing code for them for four years while I pursued higher education. Overall it was a good time, I definitely recommend it.

Onwards, to Cali

So I graduated and decided to try out this coast out for a while. One of the first things I did (after buying the box truck, of course) was make my way down to the DMV and get a license like a real-life California resident. I would have been fine with a normal, Class C license. After all, my career out here is software engineering, not bus driving. But a consequence of getting a normal license, because of various laws and whatnot, was that the DMV would have to shred and invalidate my out-of-state Class B license. This, I was not fine with. I felt that I had worked hard and earned the right to drive stupidly large vehicles, why should moving across the country deprive me of that? So I started looking into the process to transfer my CDL license to a California CDL license.

The Process

After a bit of inquiry, I found out that the process would be approximately two steps. The first: pass a series of tests on how to not crash large, occasionally fast-moving vehicles. The second: prove to a certified doctor that you probably won't fall asleep/die/seize/go blind/spontaneously combust while piloting aforementioned vehicles. Easy peasy. I aced the tests on my first second try. I found a local person who claimed to be a doctor and allowed them to examine me. They seemed confident I was fit to commandeer 13+ ton pieces of machinery, and if they're cool with it, I'm cool with it.

Roadblocks

With all of my completed paperwork in hand, I drudged my way back to the DMV and patiently waited in line for the better part of eternity. Once it was my turn, I approached the pearly gates and handed them my papers, and they spoke thusly:

Sorry, there's been a computer error, you'll have to come back next week.

-DMV Employee/Keeper of the Pearly Gates

This was devastating to me for a few reasons. Firstly, this process had really been dragging on, it had been almost three months since my first DMV visit (with four more in the middle), and I was really hoping this would be the last one. The second, and most nerve-racking reason, was that I didn't know what was causing the computer error. What made my application different than all of the others? Was it because I didn't have a real address? Was the DMV about to accidentally stumble onto the fact that I'm secretly homeless and the home address I've provided them with is nothing more than a storefront. After all, it doesn't take more than a Google search of the address to see that it's a glorified post office box, could they have a system that does the same thing? This was moderately stressful, I was sure that I was all set and then this roadblock popped up. A soul-crushing experience all-around.

The Return Trip

So I made another trip to the DMV a few days later. If you're a fan of the sound of small children crying, or particularly enjoy the scents of bad hygiene and hyperhidrosis, then you would have had a blast at this DMV outing. I, like most people, am not a fan of those things, and thus I did not enjoy this DMV trip. In any case, I went back up, explained my story, and they called some people who hopefully had a better grasp on the situation. After a few more eternities, they asked for my old license, and in return handed me a small piece of paper with the title "TEMPORARY LICENSE".

This was a start, but I was still on edge, and wouldn't be entirely comfortable until I had the full-blown, big boy license, which they said should arrive in the mail in the next 60 days. In my haste and anxiousness, I didn't realize the implications of handing in my only photo ID. What this meant was that the ensuing few weeks were to be devoid of any bar-visits on my behalf, tragic I know. But as is evident from the picture above, it did eventually arrive in the mail, adding legitimacy to both my truck ownership, and my sketchy private mail box address. If there's any takeaway from this story, it's that the DMV can be a fickle mistress, but things normally work themselves out in the end.

A terrible takeaway I know, but unfortunately my hours of pondering life's unanswered questions while waiting at the DMV didn't yield any earth-shattering revelations.

One problem that you wouldn't expect to have in a truck is losing things. It's a single, small, essentially square room. There are no doors, closets, nooks, crannies, trap doors, false floors, drop ceilings, or hiding places to speak of. Everything should be well accounted for. In spite of this, I've managed to lose the following items, most of which I acquired on my first trip to Home Depot.

• Switchblade
• Screwdriver
• Roll of Tape
• Nail Clippers
• Batteries

I've spent an obscene amount of time racking my brain over where these things could have possibly gone, checking every crevice and corner and drawer (all four of them). Nothing within the realm of logic and reason can produce an explanation as to what has happened to my various belongs. It's not like they all vanished at once either. They're being picked off one by one, like they're all characters in a horror movie, being tormented by a killer of inanimate objects. Naturally I don't notice their absence until I need them, the perfectly inopportune time.

In all likelihood, I'm just misplacing them or throwing them away by accident or eating them in my sleep, but I'm much more fond of the idea that someone is playing an incredibly elaborate prank on me. It's not like anything missing is particularly expensive (not that I have anything of value in there), so it's not particularly worrisome to me. What will disappear next? Will I ever solve the puzzle? Is my truck eating my other belongings out of jealous? The world may never know.

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.

Before I recount in gritty detail the various hordes who've ravaged my home, I should note that the box makes a fantastic breeding ground for all of my nightmares. It's warm, dark, and humid during the day, and I keep the back gate slightly open at night for air circulation and temperature control, so it's even easily accessible for them. On top of that, despite not keeping any food in there, there are more than enough yummy goodies (from an insect's perspective) in the form of cloth, wood, and the various clumps of refuse hiding in cracks and crevices left behind by previous truckers. Basically, I'd been inadvertently building a 128 ft² insect farm and microbiome from the start.

Moths

Moths were the first plague I encountered. I'm not sure what drew them in initially, but I started noticing them a few days after I "moved in". As it turns out, moths feed on fabric, particularly wool and silk, which I apparently have in my wardrobe (who would have thought). For about a week, it was a pretty common occurrence to have 3 or 4 flying around when I came back, and it really bothered me when they'd fly out of my gym bag at work, or I'd find them dead at the bottom of the dryer (I'm currently shuddering thinking about the latter two). I think the issue is mainly that my clothes (on a rack) are too easily accessible, clothes left in the attic of a normal home have similar issues. Anyway, I went on a pretty intense extermination spree, shaking out all my clothes and washing my entire wardrobe, and that seemed to do the trick. Now I periodically beat all my clothes with a broomstick, like a normal, well-adjusted human being. And when I'm packing the next-day's clothes into my gym bag, I always shake them out first to double check. I still have the odd run-in with moths, but now it's more like one per week, which is, in my opinion, very manageable.

Spiders

If you had never seen a spider before, and nobody had explained to you that spiders existed, it'd be very reasonable to believe that they were straight up malicious alien lifeforms. They're hairy, have legs coming out radially all over the place, have crazy eyes, and they make these intricate webs exclusively for trapping (and subsequently eating alive) prey and pissing people off. They're weird and scary, and in the harsh lighting of my truck, they cast massive, nightmarish shadows, regardless of their actual size. On top of that, their presence normally means there are other pests for them to feed on, so their very existence spells trouble. For all these reasons, I have quite the preoccupation with keeping them away from me. I've never found more than one or two at a time, but I'm much more comfortable when there are zero of them. Controlling them normally means controlling whatever else has inhabited the box first, then killing all the leftover spiders by hunting them down one by one. Finding all their sneaky hiding spots can be tricky, but it's not that bad when your entire house is one room.

Ants

My ant infestation was by far the worst experience I had. Originally, I noticed a few small, translucent insects crawling over the wood securement I use to hold the bed in place. No big deal I thought, I'll just move the wood to near the door and brush them off outside with the broom. But when I moved the wood, I saw that there were a ton more of them, and it wasn't the wood that they were after. In fact, hordes of them were moving back and forth from a shadowed corner of the truck. This is essentially what nightmares are made of, an uncountable number of entities moving in the shadows. I immediately moved my bed to the other side of the truck, and hesitantly shined a flashlight into the shadowy corner. It was as awful as I could have imagined. I was greeted by an army of tiny, determined ants, pouring endlessly out of a small crack in the wall. I spent the next two hours sweeping them out of the truck, neurotically checking and scrubbing every corner of the truck. Once I felt I had it under control, I went to sleep, only to be haunted by wave after wave of insect-related nightmares. As you can imagine, the next day saw a hasty trip to none other than Home Depot.

The tricky thing about killing insects in the truck is that you can't outright spray them with chemicals or put mothballs everywhere: it's a small, enclosed, poorly-ventilated area, and spraying a pesticide cocktail in the place where I sleep is pretty much a guarantee that my kids will be born with the wrong number of eyes and limbs. Luckily, I found these perfectly-evil ant traps, which work by being delicious to ants, and then killing them after they've already fed the entire colony. I dropped one of those bad boys near the aforementioned crack of despair, and then didn't look at it for two days. When I went to check in, the transparent plastic container was filled with the stationary bodies of my enemies, which brought me a palpable sense of relief (and joy?). I threw that trap out, and put another one down. At present, that second trap has been down for three weeks, and I haven't seen a single ant in or around the truck since. Powerful stuff.