Take the ride

"Thanks, sir!" you shout, excited to have your first ride. You open the door and slide into the seat, putting your backpack on the bench seat between you and the driver. The heat feels good on your frozen body. You close the door with a solid thunk.

You reach a hand over and say, "Hi, I'm Jack."

The driver shakes your hand, smiling, and says, "I'm Bill. About eight years ago, I hitched down this very highway, like Jack Kerouac. When I saw you, my trip flashed through my head, and I had to stop to help you out, especially in this weather." He pulls back onto the highway and heads west.

"I certainly appreciate it, Bill. Thanks again," you say as you take a dollar out of your wallet.

"Keep it, kid. You'll need it. I was just making sure you were willing to contribute. Have you ever hitchhiked before?" Bill asks.

"Unless you count in town, no."

"Well, there's a phrase I've heard used recently about hitching. It's 'Gas, Grass, or Ass'. Do you know what that means?" Bill drives with one hand on the wheel.

"Nope."

"Well, it means that one should contribute to the driver. The three words refer to gas money, marijuana, or sex. But today is your freebie. I just don't want you to get surprised when someone says something. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Go ahead," you say as you crack your window.

"Here," Bill says as he offers a Pall Mall cigarette from the pack.

You take it and hold it between your fingers as Bill takes his cigarette out of the pack with his lips, puts the pack on the dash, and fishes for his lighter in his suit jacket. He lights his first and then lights yours. You help by cupping the lighter. The two of you smoke for a few minutes in silence.

"So, what do you do?" you ask.

"Well, I was a lot like you when I was your age. But after a couple years of traveling around, I got a job at a motorcycle dealer. Then I found that selling motorcycles is great and all, but it's a dead end. So I went to work for Harley-Davidson as a sales rep. I travel around the Midwest convincing motorcycle dealers to buy Harleys. I'm headed to St. Louis to do just that," Bill says as he puffs his cigarette.

"That's like a dream job for a motorcycle guy," you say.

"It's hard work, but I love it. I still get out and ride pretty often. In the summer."

You are done with your cigarette and get ready to flick it out the window.

"Nope, don't do that!" Bill says. He opens the ashtray and stubs his out. "Use the ashtray. Too many filters along the road."

You follow his lead and extinguish your smoke.