thumbing it

—Gas, Grass, or (am I an) Ass?

Dining Out says: Its one thing to rescue a stray dog off the streets but picking up a random human being when you’re all alone? That’s pretty dangerous and impulsive. Not only did you invite a 21st century gypsy into your car, you handed him a wad of Benjamins and delegated your home address like a summer camper looking for a pen pal. Do you really expect him to Fed-Ex you a hallmark card with a money order inside?

He must have told you quite a compelling story. Many people pick up strangers at bars and invite them into their homes, which is pretty stupid when you think about it from a sober perspective. But at least if you’re at a local bar you can do a background check.

The Wheelman says: S’matter wit’ you? Didn’t your mother tell you nothin’? First, you don’t give nobody no rides. Why do you think they got laws against it? ‘Cause they don’t want people carpoolin’? That ain’t why, bravepants. It’s so you don’t wind up playin’ cabbie to a hillbilly who wants to plant you face-down in a cornfield with a hatchet in your face for a tip.

Somebody will pick these creeps up, eventually. Better it be an armed man wearing a badge than you. They’ll take him wherever he belongs, and guess what? It’ll work the other way around: They’ll take money from him and they’ll make him give them his address.

Dr. Sigmund Fraud says: There are few characters in American folk culture as mysterious as the lone hitchhiker. Variations range from benevolent millionaires like Donald Trump, who was said to have paid off a good Samaritan’s mortgage in return for a ride; to Nat King Cole’s widow, who was said to have returned the favor of a ride with a gift of a color TV set. Unfortunately, both stories turned out to be urban myths.

On the other end of the scale, there are the American psychos who appear over and over in our popular consciousness—and the very real signs near penitentiaries warning motorists not to pick up hitchhikers. Since hitchhiking is illegal in more and more places, it would seem counterintuitive for a malevolent criminal to scout victims by standing at the side of the road trying to wave down their prey. However, there are examples where this scenario has been frighteningly true, and doubtless there are missing persons out there today who picked up a hitcher and took him on a short ride to oblivion.

It is interesting, perhaps, that the murderous hitchhiker is usually a man in these urban myths; while a hitchhiking woman is usually a ghost. Stereotypes aside, I was astounded when your car pulled over to pick me up. It was so late, I’d been walking for miles, and I was convinced that I’d probably wind up sleeping under a bridge in the dark Poconos. It’s not everyday that a cold, stranded guy gets picked up by a lingerie model driving a red Viper. And you certainly didn’t feel like a ghost in my arms. I will never forget the night of passion we shared in the heart-shaped bed at the honeymoon lodge. It was also unbelievably generous of you to give me the $200, although I wish you’d stuck around for breakfast.

In the morning, when I got a ride back to my car and filled it with gas, I drove into the city, stopped at a bank, and went straight to the Manhattan address you gave me. I was ready to pay you back the $200. Instead, I felt a wicked chill when I walked into the funeral home and saw your beautiful photo on the closed casket.

Must you continue to haunt me by writing this cruel question to our advice column?

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