Picture this: you’re staring at a line of big rigs parked on the shoulder. Their engines are cold. The drivers are inside sipping gas station coffee. They wonder where the hell their next load is. Not because they’re lazy. Not because they don’t want to work. But because the ports are dead. Not quiet. Dead.
Thanks, tariffs.
Things are messed up. A long-haul driver in Ohio tells you he’s thinking about selling his rig. He is considering becoming—wait for it—a barista. “At least Starbucks has customers,” he mutters. That’s where we are now.
Tariffs are like political napalm. Looks powerful. Smells patriotic. Burns everything in sight.
Trump’s 145% tariff stunt in 2025 was supposed to “bring China to its knees.” Sure. What it actually brought was a whole lot of nothing into our ports. Like zero ships docked in Seattle nothing. That’s not drama. That’s a quote from a real port commissioner: “As of today, we have zero ships at berth.” Try hauling freight that doesn’t exist.
And if there’s no freight, there’s no work. If there’s no work, truckers—those folks we clapped for during the pandemic, remember them?—start to vanish. Poof. Gone. Not because they want to, but because they’re being economically ghosted.
Let’s talk about Joe. I met him at a truck stop outside Tacoma. Forty-nine. Looks fifty-nine. Drives a Peterbilt he calls “Betsy.” (Of course he does.) He hauled everything from mattresses to mangos. Until May 2025. Now, he sits around watching YouTube tutorials on lawn care businesses because he needs a plan B. That’s the vibe now: Plan B or bust.
And what’s insane is that nobody at the top seems worried. They discuss “strategic economic leverage” on news panels. Meanwhile, the working class is out here playing Whac-A-Mole with overdue bills. Meanwhile, Amazon and IKEA are sweating because their inventory’s rotting in containers stuck in customs—or never even shipped.
Want to hear the dumbest part? The truckers didn’t sign up for this war. They’re collateral damage in a testosterone-fueled economic standoff between two global giants. The guys moving our food, clothes, meds—they’re just pawns in a game that doesn’t care if they win or lose. Only that they shut up and keep driving. Well, guess what? They’re not driving anymore.
Not because they’re weak. Because they’re fed up.
The system’s supposed to run like this: boats bring in goods. Ports offload them. Truckers haul them. People buy them. The economy spins. Break one link in that chain—say, 145% tariffs—and suddenly you’ve got 18-wheelers collecting dust and warehouses echoing with emptiness.
Oh, and let’s sprinkle in the cost of diesel. Spoiler: it ain’t cheap. You might be driving 800 miles with an empty trailer. You’re hoping the next load pays enough to cover fuel. Maybe it’s time to ask: what’s the point?
This isn’t just economics. It’s math with human consequences.
People like to romanticize the trucking life. The freedom. The open road. Johnny Cash on the stereo. But let me tell you, freedom doesn’t pay for brake pads. And Cash can’t sing you out of a missed mortgage payment.
So yeah—truckers are quitting. Walking away. Selling rigs, breaking leases, handing in keys. And it’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a form of protest. The quiet kind. The kind that happens when folks realize no one’s coming to save them.
And don’t let anyone tell you this is just about the ports. It’s about everything. It’s about the unbearable cost of being American in 2025. Work hard, get less. Speak up, get ignored. Break down, get replaced. That’s the rhythm now.
The scary part? No one knows how far this will go. Will prices spike again when supply chains collapse? Will we beg truckers to come back when the shelves are bare? Probably. But by then, Joe and Betsy might be long gone—running a lawn care gig in Spokane and never looking back.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s what happens when you treat the backbone of your economy like a disposable spine.
Hell of a plan.