Maybe if I start tap dancing.
You begin to think it has something to do with your appearance. Your mannerisms. Should I put my hand on my hip or is that kind of intimidating? Should I hold the thumbs up hand far away from my body, confident and demanding, or should I keep it close by my side, a statement: I am weak. I am not going to hurt you.
What would a hitch hiking serial killer not do?
Maybe if I had cargo shorts on. Last time, with Adam, he had cargo shorts on. And besides looking liking a tool from an Old Navy commercial, he certainly got us a lot of rides. And that was with bicycles too. The 2nd or 3rd automobile up the on ramp would just happen to be an old truck. And it would just happen to offer us a ride. With Adam, I swear, we never waited more than 5 minutes, and then we would find ourselves and the bikes we had ridden down to Nephi on, in the bed of an old beat-up pick-up with the late afternoon sun and the wind and our exhausted bodies. The rides weren't very long, one fifth of the journey at a time, but there was no shortage of offers.
But here I am, from the afternoon sun to the late afternoon sun to the early evening sun to it's going to be dark in 30 minutes sun and I am not getting any rides.
Honestly, is it the half mullet thing? I don't mean to stereotype but you guys are the ones with the dirt bikes in your trailers. And about this flowery button up shirt: I agree it needs some work. I'm not a fan of the 70's collars either, but I bought it 5 hours ago, and there seems to be a shortage of sewing machines on the outskirts of Elberta, Utah. What do you expect?
So I sit, and I wait, and the sun gets lower and lower in the west. The cars and trucks that pass offer nothing but blurred impressions of hurried drivers or nervous mothers.
Do I not look friendly? I'm smiling. But maybe that is creepy. Don't smile. I should be more nonchalant. I don't need a ride from you, but... if you want to give me one...
Still no rides.
The hills that at some point in the past hesitated a little with the idea of becoming a mountain hide behind the last glares of the setting sun. The two lane road goes on in both directions straight and flat. Earlier, when I had wanted a diversion, when a ride before dark was a sure thing, I had ran after a group of antelope in the far distance of the yellow fields.
Looking north now, I can see the southern most tip of Utah lake and Mount Timpanogos where the last pink light of the sun shows snow capped peaks. I am not all that far from home, really. But the idea of walking all night --20 miles, at least, to a pay-phone-- in the cold wind that has just suddenly hit me does not sound appealing. I begin to get desperate.
I have to sell myself. I have to make these drivers want to pick me up. Maybe if I start tap dancing...
What would a hitch hiking serial killer not do?
Maybe if I had cargo shorts on. Last time, with Adam, he had cargo shorts on. And besides looking liking a tool from an Old Navy commercial, he certainly got us a lot of rides. And that was with bicycles too. The 2nd or 3rd automobile up the on ramp would just happen to be an old truck. And it would just happen to offer us a ride. With Adam, I swear, we never waited more than 5 minutes, and then we would find ourselves and the bikes we had ridden down to Nephi on, in the bed of an old beat-up pick-up with the late afternoon sun and the wind and our exhausted bodies. The rides weren't very long, one fifth of the journey at a time, but there was no shortage of offers.
But here I am, from the afternoon sun to the late afternoon sun to the early evening sun to it's going to be dark in 30 minutes sun and I am not getting any rides.
Honestly, is it the half mullet thing? I don't mean to stereotype but you guys are the ones with the dirt bikes in your trailers. And about this flowery button up shirt: I agree it needs some work. I'm not a fan of the 70's collars either, but I bought it 5 hours ago, and there seems to be a shortage of sewing machines on the outskirts of Elberta, Utah. What do you expect?
So I sit, and I wait, and the sun gets lower and lower in the west. The cars and trucks that pass offer nothing but blurred impressions of hurried drivers or nervous mothers.
Do I not look friendly? I'm smiling. But maybe that is creepy. Don't smile. I should be more nonchalant. I don't need a ride from you, but... if you want to give me one...
Still no rides.
The hills that at some point in the past hesitated a little with the idea of becoming a mountain hide behind the last glares of the setting sun. The two lane road goes on in both directions straight and flat. Earlier, when I had wanted a diversion, when a ride before dark was a sure thing, I had ran after a group of antelope in the far distance of the yellow fields.
Looking north now, I can see the southern most tip of Utah lake and Mount Timpanogos where the last pink light of the sun shows snow capped peaks. I am not all that far from home, really. But the idea of walking all night --20 miles, at least, to a pay-phone-- in the cold wind that has just suddenly hit me does not sound appealing. I begin to get desperate.
I have to sell myself. I have to make these drivers want to pick me up. Maybe if I start tap dancing...