Driving back home. It’s pretty late, and I’m bored to death with the music on the radio. Sitting safely in my car, I know that in about 25 minutes of quiet ride I’m nicely tucked in my bed. The cars all around zoom past me, but I’m too tired and don’t feel like crashing into anything at this hour.
In the speed they’re driving at, nobody notices (or perhaps prefers not to notice) the young man that stands slouched by the side of the road with his thumb trying to stay up, desperately hoping to be picked up by a good Jewish soul.
He looks like he’s been waiting a very long time there, poor thing. Seems pretty harmless. It might not be such a great idea, I know, but really, what could happen? After all, this isn’t the movies, just a slightly dark side road, in the fairly sane Israel. And it’s not the usual hour for terror attacks or the like (this guy doesn’t even look, er, “eastern”). Yeah, I guess I’m the good Jewish soul he’s hoping for, in the shape of a tired enough woman that would act momentarily against her better judgment.
Still in reality, which is quite different from what the movies feed us with, my “trampist” is a normal, somewhat boring person who just needed a ride home. Both of us too tired for a small talk (and me still being a bit tense from realizing how stupid my decisions can be sometimes), we hardly speak during his temporary stay in my car, and my world.
“Thanks” “No problem, good night.” He goes off and I switch between the radio stations, bracing myself before the usual parking hunt still awaiting me. Yawn.
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