The Hitchhiker

DON'T PICK UP HITCHHIKERS

I picked up a hitchhiker today in Nashville. It’s not the first time, heck I’ve even hitch’d before myself. He was a big guy. I thought he was going to hop on the back but he didn’t, he piled right up front with me. I don’t know his name, he actually never said a word.

The last time I hitch’d was probably two years ago in Missouri, or was it Arkansas🤔I get those two mixed up. Anyhow, I’d just delivered an RV to this little dealership in, I’m-not-sureville, and for whatever reason I didn’t get an Uber; I think I was just super broke. I had a bus ticket back to Indiana, then I had to pick up another RV that would bring me back home to Georgia. I had two hours to get six miles, so I struck out for the Greyhound Station on foot.

Now I travel pretty light, usually just a backpack with essentials; and a rolling carry-on size suitcase for my clothes, a blanket, and a pillow. So on this particular trip I find myself walking down some state highway, my left thumb out, and my suitcase dragging behind me in my right hand. I didn’t walk long, maybe 20 or 30 min, about a mile or so before some old guy pulled over in his pickup truck to give me a lift.

“Where ya headed?” The old-timer asked.

“Greyhound bus station,” I replied with a big smile.

“You mind riding in the back? I ain’t got much room up front here.”

“Not at all,” I assured him. “Thanks for the lift Mister!”

So I sit my bag inside the truck bed and climb up over the tailgate to get in. The back of the truck is empty except for a spare tire, and a cooler. I decide to ride the next four or five miles on the cooler, so I take a seat and knock on the toolbox twice to let this fine old gentleman know I’m ready to go.

About a mile later we pull into a store though. The old-timer gets out and says, “I’m going in for a drink, you want anything?”

“No thank you,” I say, waving my hand in a naw I’m fine gesture.

But when he comes out of the store he’s got two red Poweraides. He hands me one, I smile again and thank him. I was hella thirsty, I just didn’t want to get out and have to drag my bag inside the store with me.

The old-timer just smiled back and said, “My pleasure.” Then gingerly climbed back into his old but very clean Ford pickup, and drove me on to the bus station. I thanked him again when he dropped me off, then sat at the bus station for another two hours before the Greyhound finally showed up.

I got lost in that story today as I drove the Georgia back roads with my own hitchhiker riding shotgun. He never did tell me where he’d been, or where he was headed, so I just brought him on home with me. And to thank me, the bastard shit on my instrument panel. 🤨 No wonder they say don’t pick up hitchhikers!

I picked this guy up in Nashville, GA, about 40 miles from home.

Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

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