I left Samantha’s after a short chat and a promise to see her again for work on Thursday. Though I'd had a good time and gotten some clarity on how Samantha felt about me, I still couldn’t help but feel disappointed in how our date had gone. We’d both been interested in something more than what happened, but fate and my frail, flabby body intervened, leaving me amorous and leaking gas all over again this morning. If anything, I was worse off now that I'd seen Samantha in her showroom finest.

I sat in my car for several minutes trying to decide if I'd missed something. Some sort of obvious clue that any human would have picked up on. I knew she wanted me, but then…  Why didn't we do anything? This morning, Samantha had obviously enjoyed looking at my chest, but had never attempted to touch me. Our chatter felt more like things did while working at Pizza Palace - friendly, interesting, happy to talk…  but not like she was going to touch my thigh, or kiss my neck. 

Did I misunderstand what she wanted? There was so much nuance in human behavior. So many emotions and levels to their attraction, and many more ways to express it. As a truck, I made my affections known with a quick beep of my horn, or a quick flash of my lights. If the steel in question were interested, we'd go for a ride together, and then part ways, likely to never see each other again. It was a lonely, solitary existence…  but we vehicles were never built with hearts and feelings, and we certainly didn't have such fine responses to touch.

There's just so much more I need to know. Could I have kissed her this morning? Asked her to touch me? Taken off her shirt so we were both topless? Perhaps last night, before I’d gotten drunk, any of those would have been acceptable. This morning, however… even a dumb truck like me could tell that Samantha wasn’t interested. I needed to know why. Had I missed my chance? Did I offend her when I drank too much? Was physical intimacy something reserved for a nighttime mating ritual? 

I didn’t - and couldn’t - know the answer to any of those questions, which meant it was time for another brutal lesson.

Emma raised an eyebrow when I pushed my way into her work thirty minutes later, wearing half the clothes she'd picked out for me as well as Samantha's shirt. “Oh, good," she said, voice amused. “You got some after all. Didn't know if you had it in you, you beautiful idiot."

“Get some?" I asked quizzically. I staggered up to her desk and sat down across from her, my head still thrumming like a big diesel waiting for a traffic light. "I don't know what you mean.”

She looked puzzled, eyes running up and down my attire. "You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and that is not your shirt." Her tone did not make this a question.

I nodded.

"So you got some,” she said, looking at me like the idiot fire truck that knew nothing about human relationships that I truly was. When I failed to reply, she shook her head and sighed. “Fuck. I forgot you know nothing. What happened after I left?"

“Well, it started off in my car," I said, launching into a comprehensive recap of the last twelve hours - the parts I could remember, at least. I spoke quickly, sure that if I trailed off, she would berate me and we’d never get back on track. What I was truly perplexed about was this morning, and why things had changed. 

Emma let me ramble on for ten minutes, though she looked like she wanted to speak up several times. She held her tongue, though her expression vacillated between impressed, embarrassed, and downright disgusted with me. When I finally stopped talking, she waited for a long moment to make sure I was done. “Was that everything?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re the most clueless girl in Los Angeles,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Maybe in the entire world.”

I wanted to tell her that this was only my third day of being human at all, let alone trying to engage in complex societal constructs like dating, but there was no way she would ever believe me that I had once been Red-1, greatest fire truck of all. The situation was impossible, absurd, and surely unique in all of mechanical history. Everyone knew that machines went to a Scrapyard, be it Great or Junk.

“Question,” Emma continued. “Have you ever been kissed before?”

I did not think that she would count rubbing fenders with a Miata, though I considered it much the same. I shook my head.

Emma bit her lip, clearly holding back something sarcastic. “Never had alcohol?”

Ethanol really should count, I thought glumly. They’re practically the same thing. Knowing it would only prompt uncomfortable followup questions if I told her about my previous ethanol addiction, I shook my head again. 

“Fucking hell,” Emma said, rubbing her eyes. “You left your little farm to come to Hollywood, and you’d never even lived. I thought you needed some grooming habits, not an entire life coach.”

My stomach lurched and I could almost feel Emma’s help slipping away. I didn’t want to find someone new - she’d done a fantastic job getting me ready for my date. It wasn’t her fault that I was as raw as the day I’d rolled off the assembly line. I didn’t even mind her gruff tone and language. It reminded me of my heroic firefighters, all of whom smoked and cursed as easy as breathing. I felt a strange emotion rising up inside of me at the thought of being rejected. My eyes stung as my vision blurred, and something hot and wet ran down my cheek. 

Was I… crying? 

“Please,” I begged, hating myself for the lack of control. I swiped at my eyes and smeared leftover makeup on the back of my hand and down my cheek. “I have more money. Teach me what I need to know. I’ve been so lost ever since I got here.” 

Emma’s expression softened at my embarrassing lack of control. “Christ, girl,” she muttered. “Your mom did you no favors, did she? She didn’t teach you anything before sending you off. Somebody is going to take advantage of you.” Her voice hardened as she spoke, eyes narrowing. “I knew ten times as much as you and I still let that producer talk me into…” 

Her voice trailed off, but her expression was fierce, and I wondered what had happened to her. Emma seemed as capable a woman as I’d ever met, and if even she could be hoodwinked, what chance did I have? I was just a simple truck with simple thoughts. I couldn’t even stop my body from leaking fluids, whether it be from my eyes or between my legs. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t mean to make you feel worse.”

“Don’t apologize,” Emma said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, any more’n I did. This place eats girls like us up and discards us when something new and better comes along. You’re a sweet kid, and I ain’t gonna let that happen to you.”

“You mean..” 

“Life lessons with Mommy Emma,” she said, mouth curving up into a slight smile. 

Relief flooded into me like a fuel system cleaner flushing all the gunk out of my system. “Thank you,” I said fervently. “I would love to take Mommy lessons.”

“It sounds so much worse when you say it,” Emma sighed.