A right smart view, all right: conclusion

So anyway, after the guy asked me if engaging in the five-knuckle shuffle was among my habits and I pleaded road-weariness in response, he shut up for a few minutes. It didn’t matter; I was pretty sure what was coming (so to speak). I slouched against the door and feigned sleep, though, of course, I kept one eye opened just so. We were probably halfway to Roanoke before the guy started working at his zipper. Evidently he either hadn’t finished the job back at Smart View or had a very healthy sexual appetite. He had the courtesy to ask me, “Mind if I do?” in much the same way others might have inquired whether I cared if they lit up. In fact, despite my distaste for cigarette smoke, I would have preferred his smoking a whole carton of unfiltered Camels and blowing huge toxic clouds in my face to his whacking away at his crotch as we tooled along (so to speak), but I didn’t have options to select from. I decided that had I known this was coming (so to speak) while exiting the bathroom back at Smart View I would have stolen his ride (though I would have been careful to somehow drive it without any part of me touching the upholstery, the gearshift, or the steering wheel) and pushed it off a cliff, as many were available and I’d always wanted to see a car explode in person.
Keeping my eyes averted was not difficult.


But as it happened, I was spared the passive ignominy of his freaky ablutions by an unforeseen idiosyncrasy in his psychosexual constitution. “I can’t do this in the light,” he complained out of the blue. “It burns!”
I chanced a look straight ahead. “Maybe you should have that checked out.”
“No!” he complained. “Every time I take it out in the light it burns!” and that was the end of his exhibitionism for the day. A few minutes later a wad of tissues went out the window.
When we got to Roanoke I had him leave me an Exxon station, for obvious reasons not wanting him to see where my cousin lived (or, for that matter, for my cousin and his family to see the guy). I did not offer him any gas money. He told me he was glad I had spent the afternoon with him (this was overstating the case). Then he drove off. I expected him to be polite and not aggressive in the least to the end, and he was.
I imagine he’s had more than a few similar experiences in his life and has probably had his ass kicked on a number of occasions, but I can’t say I’ve ever had anything like that happen to me and don’t expect to again.

5 thoughts on “A right smart view, all right: conclusion”

  1. I’m still faintly sympathetic towards the bloke, repulsive though he clearly was.
    Your story does go to show that not every weirdo is dangerous, and that some calculated risks are worth taking.
    That is the sort of risk you only take the once, though, isn’t it? Well done for keeping your cool so well.

  2. I was hitchhiking in southwestern Pennsylvania in the winter. It was getting dark and large snowflakes started to fall. Then a black-and-white slowed and pulled over. It was a cop offering me a ride. He had his young son with him in the front seat. Half an hour later, he needed a break, so he stopped at a diner and bought blueberry pie for the three of us. Then he had a stop to make.
    He was trading in blackmarket military firearms, I learned, as a small side business.
    He dropped me off right in front of my place at school.
    Your story is better, but mine is stranger.

  3. I was hitchhiking in southwestern Pennsylvania in the winter. It was getting dark and large snowflakes started to fall. Then a black-and-white slowed and pulled over. It was a cop offering me a ride. He had his young son with him in the front seat. Half an hour later, he needed a break, so he stopped at a diner and bought blueberry pie for the three of us. Then he had a stop to make.
    He was trading in blackmarket military firearms, I learned, as a small side business.
    He dropped me off right in front of my place at school.
    Your story is better, but mine is stranger.

  4. A friend of mine was hitchhiking in Texas circa 1980. He gets a ride from a fellow in a pickup truck. As they’re going down the road, some other car passes them. The driver of the pickup looks straight ahead, shouts “Bullshit!”, and floors it.
    Apparently, some people are easier to insult than others.

  5. I’m left with two mental images, and I’m not sure which one I like better.
    One is fairly obvious, involving a vampiric penis.
    The other involves the driver over the car, hunched over in pain, exclaiming “It burns us! It burns the precious!”
    Weren’t you concerned about his ability to focus on the road while driving one-handed?

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