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Carman and the Hitchhiker
So I am at the airport, and this guy needs a ride. He looked like a cross between Booger from “Revenge of the Nerds” and some other Nerd I cant name at the moment. He tells me he is going about 60 miles out of my way, but I need gas... I need it bad. I coasted around town on fumes, and am broke as a dick. I say “I’ll give you a ride, just fill my tank up.” Did I mention that I had been up since 5:30am, and that the time is now 1:30am the next morning? Well, it was.
Anyway, we get to traveling and I learn that this guy is a Mormon. Also, around this time, I start thinking that “HOLY SHIT, he can also cut my fucking head off and shit on my corpse!” but what the fuck, life is about adventure, right? This guy talks... and talks... and talks... And it turns out that he is a bigger nerd than I am, and that my assumption about him being a crazed killer was wrong. Fair enough.
So there we are, in the middle of fucking nowhere, and I am dead ass tired. Nitro is on the tape deck, and he is rambling on and on about a critical hit in D&D. I cross a wooden bridge and all of a sudden a thought comes to me: “I am in a David Lynch film.” There is some meaning behind this, and I am supposed to learn some sort of lesson. I think it is that Mormons are blasphemous and that I should ask him about the funny undies they wear. But I decide against it and do something else. Just from talking to this guy about certain stuff, I can tell he does not watch horror or anything R rated. So I start to mumble to myself pretending that I am scared, he asks “What’s wrong?”, and I tell him about The Creeper... Yes, the lame "Jeepers Creepers" movie, but I make it sound like it is real legend. Now I can tell he is getting kinda freaked, especially considering that we are on some back road by the coast and since I almost hit a pelican in mid flight, and he thought it was The Creeper!
He tells me to take him to a hotel, ANY hotel, and I comply by feigning that I am lost on the back roads of Sunset Beach. By this time this guy is genuinely freaked out, so I point to some fields and tell him about Pee Wee Gaskins’ reign of terror along these roads (THAT is true, by the way). Soon I start to nod off, he starts to say some sort of prayer over and over. So I drop him off at some hotel along the highway and bid him farewell.
I had never picked up a hitchhiker before, and I don’t know if this counts, but I may do it again sometime. Maybe I can think of something more interesting to tell the next poor soul that stumbles into the Carman-mobile. But then again, I don’t want my head cut off, and my torso used to feed some crazed cannibal. But it would make a far more interesting story.
