Since this is Maine, which I have established is a truly magical place, and because I am a trusting Modern Philosopher who is always eager to meet new people, the logical thing to do was to hitchhike.
Who wouldn’t stop for a tall, handsome, smiling guy in a toga, am I right?
The House on the Hill is 4 miles from my office according to the Zombie Car’s odometer, one of the few parts that always seems to work. I considered running to work, which I’m sure I could’ve done in about 42 minutes given the time of day and my recent running exploits. But after that long of a run, I would need a shower, and there isn’t one available at work. I sweat too much when I run not to take a shower. You’re welcome, coworkers!
In addition, after running for 42 minutes, my body would want to stretch out and relax, not be chained to a desk for the next 8 hours. As a result, running to work was out of the question.
Although, I could’ve used my trusty towel to wipe myself down in lieu of a shower. I then could’ve used the towel as a makeshift jump rope to give my body a workout. Maybe even incorporated the towel into some stretches that would’ve prevented lactic acid build up…
I think I just really wanted to hitchhike, though. So I packed my towel into my bag and hit the road in search of a ride.
I hoped that I would travel from car to car and meet as many people as possible. Maybe ride with people who spoke different languages. Perhaps find the answer to the meaning of life, or at least learn more about life, the universe and everything.
Instead, I met Irma, a sweet, tiny octogenarian, who could barely see over the dashboard, only spoke English, couldn’t answer any questions deeper than the time and the day of the week because she was so focused on driving, and would only talk about her beloved grandsons, Dougie and Adam.
She was a total sweetheart, though, with whatever is the opposite of a lead foot. I was going to say I could’ve run to work faster, but she got us to my place of business in precisely 42 minutes. Go, Irma!
I did get to use my towel, though. It came in handy when I needed to pry a piece of hard candy off the back of my toga. Apparently one of those imps, Dougie or Adam, had spit it out on Nana’s front seat earlier that morning. Those whippersnappers…
That was definitely too much excitement for one day, and I bummed a ride home off a coworker. The Zombie Car is still at the mechanic’s, though, so I get to give hitchhiking another go in the morning. Maybe I’ll get really lucky and Stephen King will stop and offer me a ride. He doesn’t live that far from me, you know.
Of course, no article about hitchhiking would be complete without this hilarious scene from one of my favorite flicks, the little seen John Cusack classic, “The Sure Thing”…
If you’re driving through Bangor at about 7:30 tomorrow morning, and you see a handsome guy in a toga thumbing a ride, don’t stop to pick him up unless you’re willing to generate some Deep Thoughts on some really deep topics.
Or at the very least, you’re willing to sing a few show tunes…