Put your Thumb out, COME ON!

When I lived in France I learned the art of the Hitchhike.

I'm not sure if any of you have experienced this, but for some reason Hitch Hiking is a 100% legit way of getting around when you're in Europe.  My buddy and I were talking about this the other day when I mentioned my follies with hitching and he brought up a bunch of random experiences of his own when he was living abroad for a year or two (but he was 23, which is a little safer than my 16 years). We were going back and forth on what worked, what didn't (hint: NOOOOO skeezy mustaches.  If you plan on trying to get a ride... you probably ought to get your shave on! Cause drivers don't want mustache rides).

Ange (of coffee family fame) and I probably hitched on 80% of our outtings.  At first the fearful american in me was all... "AREYOUFUCKINGINSANE?!  We. CAN.NOT. Hitchhike.  That's like RAPE and PILLAGE waiting to happen! " 

And her carefree french attitude just laughed at me.  "Corie, this is not NYC... come on.  Get in the car."  

The "car" was a tiny Peugeot with three other girls already in it heading for the center of the city. ALRIGHT fine.  Three girls, what can it hurt? We got in and they let us out, just as we had planned, exactly where we were going (which SHOULD have been school.  But Ange was a bad influence). And suddenly I was ALL ABOUT the hitch.  By the end of the year I was flagging down prospective hitches like they were cabs.  Chatting up the drivers, learning about their lives, what they were up to.  It was like a social experiment. 

  

Throughout the year we had a number of hilarious encounters.  My favorite of which being when we hitched a ride at 2am from a couple of really sketchy looking dudes who were probably 22ish, while Ange and I (in all of our nubile glory) were out in some CRAZY-short skirts and flats.   We probably looked like jailbait, when I think back on it.  We had been dancing all night, I was totally sober (as always, I was an uptight teen) and covered in sweat, but Ange couldn't claim anything CLOSE to sober, so I was in charge of getting us home, because she was useless and I think at that point my french was actually better than hers. 

Then, after one of the boys winked at us from the front seat and asked where we needed to go in the most horrific french I've ever heard to this day (and I suffered through a LOT of american highschool and college-level french classes) he turned to his buddy and said --in the most obvious Savannah Accent I've heard on anyone under the age of 40-- "My boy, I think we have us a couple of perfect french conquests!  Our night just got better."  Seriously, I didn't know Savannah youth had picked up that accent.  I thought it was just the oldies. 

I stared at him in some kind of wonder, still dazed about the accent not to mention the idea of being conquered, and without thinking, said: "Savannah, you're from Savannah. What's your name?!" In my perfect, Atlanta-based  english.   Needless to say, he turned white.  And started back pedaling.  But at that same moment Drunk-Ange broke the tension when she leaned over the front seat and started making out with the driver.  While we were in motion.  Then of course she climbed into the passenger's lap and stared at him intently until he moved into the back seat.

Way to go, Ange.  Now I'm sitting next to a creep-o from Savannah, and  you're making out with our driver.  

Never speak english in a foreign country imagining that you are being sneaky.  You're definitely not.  And Ange will totally help you out if you're in need of a conquest.  No need to be shady about it.  Just hope she doesn't vomit on you.  Even though you deserve it, and instead you're getting to third base. While driving.

The guy I was sitting next to and I still talk occasionally.  He lives in Atlanta, works for some record company, and spends a lot of time on Facebook, as far as I can tell.   Not sure about his compatriot.

And the next night?  Totally unphased,  we hitched again, and all was back to normal.  I have yet to ever tell my mother about this.  Partially because I know she'd disapprove, and partially because I'm not sure it matters anymore.