Thursday, November 8, 2012

[2] #21: The Upturned Thumb

There are few attitudes of precipitation that are compatible with a long walk alone. Last year, wrapped up in the romantic idealism so often self-inflicted in my life, I decided to take myself on a wandering sort of adventure down the road and through the woods wearing a costume princess ball gown. The first ten minutes were a joy; many a confused smile from drivers as they zoomed past, a bus load of kids headed home from school, a little lighthearted music in my ear... but then the summer rain turned into a chilly drizzle and as the weather half-lifted the bugs came out. I was eaten alive and had a miserable trudge for the last half hour. Eventually I gave up and called my Dad.

With this memory running through my mind as I drove through the dripping grey world last week, I decided to pick up the sopping wet person on the side of the road. His name was Ryan, and he was on his way to work in town - about ten kilometres away from where I picked him up, which was about five from where he started. He didn't say much, but he gave me a smile and kept up his end of the conversation in exchange for the lift. All in all a decent ride... and in the future, as long as you don't look dangerous or creepy, you can count on my passenger seat.


No comments:

Post a Comment