One of my summer jobs in high school was driving a wheat truck. I worked for a custom farmer by the name of Turk Ely. Custom meant that he farmed his own land and then hired out to harvest the wheat fields of dozens of other farmers. It meant Turk had the finest equipment. It also meant that our wheat harvest extended weeks longer than many of the other crews.
During harvest I was assigned my own truck. It was mine to keep filled with fuel, oiled, cleaned and lubed and in proper running order. I kept my own things in it. I claimed it as my own throughout the harvest season. It was mine. Even Turk would refer to it as my truck.
Day by day, many times a day, I would position my empty truck where needed and the combines would fill my truck with precious wheat. I would then drive that wheat to an elevator where each load was tested, weighed, dumped and recorded in the name of the owner of that field.
Wait! What! Not in my name?
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