Hitchin' a Ride

So I have a strange addiction.  Well, maybe it’s not an addiction, per-say- but an impulsive reaction that I have thankfully learned to control. Mostly.  But it hasn't been easy.

Alright.  Here it is.  I cannot pass a hitchhiker without the urge of a mad woman to swerve and pick them up.  I realize this isn’t your typical, impulsive move- such as buying a pair of designer shoes that one cannot afford.  Though both results have potential for dangerous consequences.
  

A few years ago, I made a promise to someone who cares about my well-being (and apparently has much more will-power than I do) to not pick up hitchhikers anymore.  No longer impulsive, I still fight an internal battle every time I pass one.

However, you must know that my initial thought is always one of compassion.  This poor person is stuck without a vehicle.  How terribly sad, I think because  I’ve been there and it is a terrible feeling.  People gave me rides.  I should pay it forward, right?  Granted, I only rode with people I knew, or just met in a bar, or the back alley of an Italian restaurant, so it was much different.

It all started one day many years ago when I saw a lady and her young daughter back in Minnesota on the side of the road with groceries in her arms, standing in the rain.  Now, how could I not stop for someone like that??  Of course she would be harmless.  She was a mom.  All moms are virtually harmless.  Plus I was 17 and immortal.

A few years later there was a guy about my age on the side of the road in Maine.  He looked harmless enough.  I was feeling adventurous and decided to pick him up.  I asked him where he was going.  He said to the mall.  Why?  Because he just found a $20 bill and wanted to go get his nose pierced- naturally.  To each their own, I suppose.  Turns out he didn’t have a job, or a car, and lived on his parents' couch.  He was 19.  I really tried not to judge.  I mean- what freedom, right?  Yeeaah...

Now it seems in Maryland I am passing hitchhikers every day.  So I asked myself, are there more of them here for some reason?  It must be a safe place to hitchhike because it seems so many people do it!  And as I drive to work every morning in my big truck with plenty of seating, I reluctantly must pass these strangers on the side of the road.  Suddenly guilt takes over and fights a battle in my head- between the guilt and the practical.


I have to pretend that I don’t see them and look the other direction- which isn’t always easy when driving.  Don’t make eye contact.  Don’t make eye contact.  Then they stick their thumb nearly in front of the vehicle- so much that I often must do a courtesy swerve- you know, being courteous not hitting them.  They should be thankful.


Instead I look in my rearview mirror and see them throw their arms up in the air in disappointment.  If they look really angry, it eases my guilt a little.  If they look sad and hang their head down, it takes everything in me not to turn around and at least roll my window down a crack to shout, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know for sure that you’re not a cold-blooded killer that would do bad things to me.”  Surely then, they would understand.

You may wonder how I forge onward through this guilt.  Well, I’ll tell you straight- it isn’t easy.  There is only one thing in which I can justify my un-neighborly behavior.   I have children to feed.   I could not leave them motherless if I have any choice in the matter.  And therefore, I let practical wins- this time- though I won't pretend it's easy.