Sweet Hitchhiker

I've lived in some pretty sketchy situations in my earlier years, and have been hassled by cops all my life (They can spot outsiders a mile away) I've had to hithchike a few times, sometimes by choice (travel in Germany) and sometimes by necessity (impounded car, running out of gas, etc.) Because of having to wait for over an hour with my thumb out only to run towards a car that pulls out once you get close, I have some sympathy for the common loser or poor guy. I've picked up a number of hitchhikers over the years and pretty much all of them leave me with a story to tell (isn't that what it's all about anyway?)

In Vermont, I picked up a guy on crutches. When asked about how he hurt himself, he said it was a hit and run. Within the duration of the lift it came out that he never remembered being hit by the car but woke up on the side of the road all beat up and could only come to that conclusion. It also came out that the guy liked to drink.

On the way to Old Lyme from New London, I picked up a guy that was trying to get to Florida. He was definitely pretty clean cut for the average hitchhiker. I was in undergrad at the time and was in the practice of milling my own oil paint. I had just mixed up a huge batch of Cadmium Yellow Medium and unbenounced to me had left a 2 inch chunk on the underside of the passenger front seat. I had a pretty good conversation with the guy and dropped him off when I had to make my turn off. As he left, I noticed a giant chunk of Cadmium yellow on the back of the lower leg of his jeans (which was his only change of his clothes) I didn't have the heart to tell the guy, but wished him luck. I felt a little sorry for the next car that picked him up.

The most memorable experience was on the way to New Haven from Old Lyme. I was on 95, and it was a downpour of rain. By downpour, I mean biblical deluge. I saw this guy come out of the bushes on the side of the highway with his thumb out. I couldn't imagine any worse luck than this guy had trying to hitchhike at a time like this. I immediately pulled over. When he got in the car, I realized the bad luck was mine. Wafting toward me was a wreaking stench of piss. When I looked at the guy I couldn't tell if he was male or female. He had a high pitch voice. I started a conversation, and he basically told me his life story. He said he was diagnosed as mentally unstable and got money from the government each month to live on. He said he usually spent it on booze and crack when it was available. He said the crack gave a good jolt to the nervous system. He was trying to return to his sister's, because he had been homeless for the last couple months and couldn't pick up a check without having a residence. After we conversed a little he asked me what my name was. I told him and then asked him his name.

He said, "Christopher Michael Hobbes is the name my parents gave me, but that's not my real name. I discovered my real name 3 years ago, early one morning."

So I asked, "What's your real name?"

He said, "you know how when you learn the alphabet, there are 26 letters, but each letter has a sound? For instance, the letter A sounds like ah, and B like buh?"

I said, "yeah".

"Well my real name isn't Christopher Michael Hobbes, It's Cuh, Huh, er, ii, Sss, Tuh, ah, Puh, Huh, eh, Er"

When he said this I couldn't believe it! Inside I was cracking up, but there was part of me that admired this nut for coming up with it and believing it. He said he had never told anybody his real name, that I was the first. When we made it to New Haven, I dropped him off. He was sad to go. When he left he wanted me to remember his name. It was very important to him that I not forget his name. I have to admit I have a soft spot in my heart for the guy. Christopher Michael Hobbes (you few readers that have an ounce of hope and dreaming left in your hearts, do me a favor and sound out Chris's name as he wanted it to be.)