Stranded
Last winter I was on my way home from work on a cold & rainy night. While driving thru the small crossroads of Dialton, a dark figure sprang at my truck from the side of the road, waving its arms desperately. As I swerved, I noted it was a woman in a dark sweatshirt. I paused briefly, considering the situation - a lone woman on a rural road in the pouring rain after dark. Normally I wouldn't pick up a stranger, but this seemed like the sort of situation where I should let my pity, usually reserved for needy animals, win out.
I've only done this twice before, once when I saw a young girl walking down the highway after her car broke down & some enormous filthy goon in an equally large & filthy flatbed had pulled alongside to offer her a ride & various STDs - she was only too glad to choose my wholesome-looking self over that fellow. There was also the ice storm when Farmer Fess, previously unknown to me, had ditched his two-wheel drive Ford right in front of me, leaving me no choice but to offer him a ride. Ironically, I picked Farmer Fess up only a few feet from where I picked up this banshee. I figured these past two situations were safe enough at the time. Plus, with the farmer, it gave me the opportunity to prove the worth of my little foreign truck that gets constant dirty looks from the locals in their Dodges & Chevys - he did indeed admit a grudging admiration after my trusty Goat refused to slide off the road several times.
So, I found myself backing up slowly while the woman ran towards me. I rolled the window down & she started babbling about running out of gas, had no idea where she was, supposed to go to her mom's, walked for who knows how far in this weather. In her defense, she was sopping wet & wearing only the sweatshirt & pants. I asked her where she needed to go & she replied, "Springfield - by the mall". Okay, about 20 minutes in the other direction, but at that point I felt like I was already in it, no turning back. I told her to climb in. She shot me a look of gratitude & relief before bounding back to the yard where she'd been lurking to retrieve a plastic grocery bag & placed it on the floorboard, which fortunately is protected by a thick rubber mat.
I asked her if she was an ax murderer, which I thought was a fair question, and she replied with an emphatic, "Hell no!" and offered me an ice-cold, damp hand in greeting. Once I had turned around in a convenient driveway & started heading in the appropriate direction, she started to show her true colors. Her boyfriend was a drug addict. He didn't care who he hurt. It's her birthday (later on in the ride she revealed her birthday was Dec. 11th, which that day was not - it was Nov. 29th). She alternately cried, laughed, called me Baby Girl & all sorts of mishmosh crap like I'm beautiful, I'm an angel, to which I chuckling heartily inside - no one's ever made the mistake of calling me an angel nor do I want to be thought of as one. She introduced herself four times on the way into the city. I caught a glimpse of her wide-eyed, lined, toothless face goggling at me in the light from passing cars. During the drive I suspected I'd been had - she knew precisely where she was as well as the homes of the local cops. More than likely her miserable hood of a boyfriend had booted her out & she just needed a ride to her mom's where she could spend the night until the lout sobered up.
"This woman is unstable," I thought.
Aloud I said, "Pardon the way I drive," as I jammed the Pathy into third gear & squealed around a 45 degree curve. She seemed unfazed & babbled on, blissful in her drug & alcohol-induced haze, confident in the ability of a stranger to deliver her unkilled to her destination. The drugs were questionable, but the way she was behaving led me to believe this might indeed be the case. She was positively manic. Maybe she just needed some drugs? The liquor was apparent as soon as she sat in my bucket seat. Not that I have issues with drugs - right before picking her up I had been taking puffs from my pipe which now was stashed safely out of sight in the ashtray. I hadn't considered it when I stopped to help, and then thought briefly of the skunky aroma that must be emanating from the cozy interior, but, those fears were quickly allayed when I realized she was crazed.
As I drove into the city, I was thinking.... what's in that bag? She seems insane... these sort of people are predictably unpredictable... I had noted she didn't put her seatbelt on, so if she did indeed flip & out & try to kill me, I could always use the windshield as a weapon. One must think of these things, you know. Also as an added precaution, I carry several large, fist-sized rocks in my center console just in case I need to smack someone in the skull with one. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Onwards we drove, me making risky maneuvers on the slick roads in the top-heavy vehicle, her crying & calling me Angel & writing her name in the fog that had gathered on the passenger side window. Finally we neared the mall. I pulled into the turn lane & disturbed her blatherings to ask where. "Oh I'm sorry, baby girl, I need to go to Bechtle"....which is not the mall at all. I gritted my teeth, told her it was fine, and we descended the hill for the 7 or 8 minute drive to Bechtle Avenue. She told me she was going to have a drink when she reached her mom's. I replied by telling her, in all honesty, that that was exactly my plan when I arrive home, too. She looked at me as if I were Jesus reborn, reached into the mysterious bag on the floor & pulled out a can of Miller High Life & offered it to me. Had it been anything other than that chilled camel piss I might've accepted, in town or not. I just couldn't do it. She shrugged & cracked the can open, chugging a little at the light. I rolled my eyes & cut the drive to Bechtle to about 4 minutes, narrowly missing a Cadillac and a Honda in my effort to switch lanes quickly. Once on Bechtle, she chanted "Motomart" like a mantra, which I took to mean we needed to turn by the Motomart. So I did. I kept waiting for her to say, "this house" or "that house" but instead found myself on the end of a dark street in a seedy residential area. She directed me to follow the road on around & then indicated a small house with about 5 cars in the drive. "Right behind the Cougar, baby doll". I was only too glad to be rid of this babbling freak & screeched to a halt, awaiting the arrival of Crackhead & Co when they tried to steal my vehicle. But, my fears were laid to rest. No criminals sporting guns streamed from the house. She blearily invited me in & promised that her mom would give me gas money. No way I was going into the house the size of a shoebox with that many cars outside. No good could come of that, I thought. I decided to cut my losses and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. As we parted ways, she leaned over & gave me a big hug & told me how beautiful & angelic I was. I suffered this with a grimace over her shoulder. She alit from the truck, bag of cheap beer in tow, we waved to each other and I peeled away from the driveway without even making sure she got in the house okay. I had done my good deed & with that many cars, there had to be someone at home. I won't be picking up any more stray people for a while.
The unexpected end of this story was realized a night or two ago. I was driving home, again passing thru Dialton, when I spotted two figures walking towards me in my lane. One was clad entirely in black, the other was a half-naked, hairy brute. Neither of them showed much interest in moving out of the lane, which is something I take offense to. I roared towards them, truck clicking & clunking in its usual way, and as I neared & started to veer slightly around them, my suspicions were confirmed. The familiar, prematurely aged face of the woman stared at me, openmouthed, as I stared back, my own awestruck expression hidden behind my sunglasses. I knew it. I'd been had. Hornswoggled. Duped.
I drove past & watched in my rearview - her head spun around to follow my truck briefly - did she recognize me? Or was I just another white SUV passing by? Then, without another gesture or glance, she turned back to continue her evening stroll with what I presume to be the wretched fuck that kicked her out on that frigid, rainy night.
I've only done this twice before, once when I saw a young girl walking down the highway after her car broke down & some enormous filthy goon in an equally large & filthy flatbed had pulled alongside to offer her a ride & various STDs - she was only too glad to choose my wholesome-looking self over that fellow. There was also the ice storm when Farmer Fess, previously unknown to me, had ditched his two-wheel drive Ford right in front of me, leaving me no choice but to offer him a ride. Ironically, I picked Farmer Fess up only a few feet from where I picked up this banshee. I figured these past two situations were safe enough at the time. Plus, with the farmer, it gave me the opportunity to prove the worth of my little foreign truck that gets constant dirty looks from the locals in their Dodges & Chevys - he did indeed admit a grudging admiration after my trusty Goat refused to slide off the road several times.
So, I found myself backing up slowly while the woman ran towards me. I rolled the window down & she started babbling about running out of gas, had no idea where she was, supposed to go to her mom's, walked for who knows how far in this weather. In her defense, she was sopping wet & wearing only the sweatshirt & pants. I asked her where she needed to go & she replied, "Springfield - by the mall". Okay, about 20 minutes in the other direction, but at that point I felt like I was already in it, no turning back. I told her to climb in. She shot me a look of gratitude & relief before bounding back to the yard where she'd been lurking to retrieve a plastic grocery bag & placed it on the floorboard, which fortunately is protected by a thick rubber mat.
I asked her if she was an ax murderer, which I thought was a fair question, and she replied with an emphatic, "Hell no!" and offered me an ice-cold, damp hand in greeting. Once I had turned around in a convenient driveway & started heading in the appropriate direction, she started to show her true colors. Her boyfriend was a drug addict. He didn't care who he hurt. It's her birthday (later on in the ride she revealed her birthday was Dec. 11th, which that day was not - it was Nov. 29th). She alternately cried, laughed, called me Baby Girl & all sorts of mishmosh crap like I'm beautiful, I'm an angel, to which I chuckling heartily inside - no one's ever made the mistake of calling me an angel nor do I want to be thought of as one. She introduced herself four times on the way into the city. I caught a glimpse of her wide-eyed, lined, toothless face goggling at me in the light from passing cars. During the drive I suspected I'd been had - she knew precisely where she was as well as the homes of the local cops. More than likely her miserable hood of a boyfriend had booted her out & she just needed a ride to her mom's where she could spend the night until the lout sobered up.
"This woman is unstable," I thought.
Aloud I said, "Pardon the way I drive," as I jammed the Pathy into third gear & squealed around a 45 degree curve. She seemed unfazed & babbled on, blissful in her drug & alcohol-induced haze, confident in the ability of a stranger to deliver her unkilled to her destination. The drugs were questionable, but the way she was behaving led me to believe this might indeed be the case. She was positively manic. Maybe she just needed some drugs? The liquor was apparent as soon as she sat in my bucket seat. Not that I have issues with drugs - right before picking her up I had been taking puffs from my pipe which now was stashed safely out of sight in the ashtray. I hadn't considered it when I stopped to help, and then thought briefly of the skunky aroma that must be emanating from the cozy interior, but, those fears were quickly allayed when I realized she was crazed.
As I drove into the city, I was thinking.... what's in that bag? She seems insane... these sort of people are predictably unpredictable... I had noted she didn't put her seatbelt on, so if she did indeed flip & out & try to kill me, I could always use the windshield as a weapon. One must think of these things, you know. Also as an added precaution, I carry several large, fist-sized rocks in my center console just in case I need to smack someone in the skull with one. Hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Onwards we drove, me making risky maneuvers on the slick roads in the top-heavy vehicle, her crying & calling me Angel & writing her name in the fog that had gathered on the passenger side window. Finally we neared the mall. I pulled into the turn lane & disturbed her blatherings to ask where. "Oh I'm sorry, baby girl, I need to go to Bechtle"....which is not the mall at all. I gritted my teeth, told her it was fine, and we descended the hill for the 7 or 8 minute drive to Bechtle Avenue. She told me she was going to have a drink when she reached her mom's. I replied by telling her, in all honesty, that that was exactly my plan when I arrive home, too. She looked at me as if I were Jesus reborn, reached into the mysterious bag on the floor & pulled out a can of Miller High Life & offered it to me. Had it been anything other than that chilled camel piss I might've accepted, in town or not. I just couldn't do it. She shrugged & cracked the can open, chugging a little at the light. I rolled my eyes & cut the drive to Bechtle to about 4 minutes, narrowly missing a Cadillac and a Honda in my effort to switch lanes quickly. Once on Bechtle, she chanted "Motomart" like a mantra, which I took to mean we needed to turn by the Motomart. So I did. I kept waiting for her to say, "this house" or "that house" but instead found myself on the end of a dark street in a seedy residential area. She directed me to follow the road on around & then indicated a small house with about 5 cars in the drive. "Right behind the Cougar, baby doll". I was only too glad to be rid of this babbling freak & screeched to a halt, awaiting the arrival of Crackhead & Co when they tried to steal my vehicle. But, my fears were laid to rest. No criminals sporting guns streamed from the house. She blearily invited me in & promised that her mom would give me gas money. No way I was going into the house the size of a shoebox with that many cars outside. No good could come of that, I thought. I decided to cut my losses and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. As we parted ways, she leaned over & gave me a big hug & told me how beautiful & angelic I was. I suffered this with a grimace over her shoulder. She alit from the truck, bag of cheap beer in tow, we waved to each other and I peeled away from the driveway without even making sure she got in the house okay. I had done my good deed & with that many cars, there had to be someone at home. I won't be picking up any more stray people for a while.
The unexpected end of this story was realized a night or two ago. I was driving home, again passing thru Dialton, when I spotted two figures walking towards me in my lane. One was clad entirely in black, the other was a half-naked, hairy brute. Neither of them showed much interest in moving out of the lane, which is something I take offense to. I roared towards them, truck clicking & clunking in its usual way, and as I neared & started to veer slightly around them, my suspicions were confirmed. The familiar, prematurely aged face of the woman stared at me, openmouthed, as I stared back, my own awestruck expression hidden behind my sunglasses. I knew it. I'd been had. Hornswoggled. Duped.
I drove past & watched in my rearview - her head spun around to follow my truck briefly - did she recognize me? Or was I just another white SUV passing by? Then, without another gesture or glance, she turned back to continue her evening stroll with what I presume to be the wretched fuck that kicked her out on that frigid, rainy night.
posted by RCSure | 8:06 AM
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