or; tractor + truck = problems
Wow, it's been awhile since I've posted anything on here . . . I blame all the downtime. 
This is a true story, by the way. Just so that you know.
It's the day before Mother's Day; it's the busiest day of the year for a nursery. I had been up front, getting people checked out and into their cars most of the morning, covering for Albert, who'd taken the day off to go to his granddaughter's wedding. Tim had been back on the tractor, scooping and dumping for all the people needing their dirt and bark and other bulk perephenalia.
Tim, however, had a horrible sunburn. He wanted to trade me just for a little bit, so that he could have some shade. I gladly traded him, and went out back to wait for the dumping to begin. And that's when the trouble starts.
A fellow had pulled back, and Lloyd beats me to the tractor. I grab the handtruck so that I can work on putting away the columnar boxwoods. Lloyd mounts the tractor and scoops up the bark. I load a plant onto my handtruck and start walking towards the aisle that the shrub belongs on.
I hear Lloyd hollering at me through my radio. I look over at him, and he motions for me to get over there. I walk over, and he says, "get up behind the bed of that truck. Try to keep the bark in." The truck, while large, has a rather small bed, and so Lloyd wants me to divert the spillage back in with a shovel.
I grad the tool and stand at my post. Lloyd starts to drive over. He's getting too close to the car - I scream, "Lloyd! Watch it, you dumbass!"
And then I hear it - a sickening, heartwrenching CRUNCH followed by a nasty SCRAPE. He's plowed the bucket of the tractor into the top of the car. I look at the owner - his eyes look like dinner plates, ready to explode from their sockets.I hear a screaming from the inside of the cab; the man's three-year-old daughter is still in the car, now panicking, thinking the world must be coming to an end.
I stand there, flabbergasted. I don't know what to say or do. Then Lloyd swings to the left, hard. I'm looking the other direction, and the swing of the bucket clips the top of my head.
I see stars.
I fall to the ground. Lloyd doesn't notice or doesn't see, and the fellow is too concerned with his screaming child to notice, either.
Lloyd starts to dump, and most of it dumps out of the bed onto me, as I lay there on the concrete, reeling in cerebral agony.
He finally pulls away and parks the tractor. I hear all of this happenin, but I can't seem to do anything to get up; my body seems frozen. Lloyd finally walks over and sees me lying there, and begins to panic, running over and hollering.
He helps me get to my feet. I've got a good bruise; nothing broken (I hope), no cut (so no stiches), but a serious goose egg. I'm still dazed, trying to pull myself out of this haze. Lloyd sees that I'm "fine" and talks to the guy about getting his buggered-up car fixed, then walks away.
The fellow is still sitting there, looking at his poor truck. I do the only thing that I have the presence of mind to do - ask, "Can I take a picture with my camera phone?"