Hello. I’m Matt. I’d shake your hand, but well, I won’t. I see you are standing in front of the Oregon Theatre, subtitled: Films For Mature Adults, facing traffic on Division St. with your arm extended and your thumb out. The maturity level of Sloppy Snatches 8 notwithstanding, this is the international symbol for requesting a ride. There would appear to be few places guaranteed to ensure your failure as a hitchhiker as a porno theater. So I wonder, why would one request a ride while standing directly in front of a porno theater? I can only surmise the reason to be because you need one. Legitimate as that may be, it begs another question. How did you get there? Did you walk? Did your friend drop you off? And if so, what friend drops one at a porno theater and then leaves? In fact, stepping back for a moment, what friend drops one at a porno theater at all? All these questions are academic of course. You exited the porno theater and you need a ride. These facts are known.
It is a beautiful summer day here in Portland, Oregon and most people are wearing shorts and t-shirts. You are wearing faded jeans and a stained white jacket. I am not “with it” enough to know if this is what the kids wear when they go to the porno theater, so I acknowledge that as a possibility straight away. But! If one knows one is going to the porno theater and, further, one knows one has no ride home from that porno theater, wouldn’t one dress in such a way so as to, say, not scare small children? Or alternatively, one could bring a set of clean clothes to change into.
Also of note: the bus stop is roughly 18 feet away. Might you have spent two fewer dollars meat beating so as to procure a ride home? If you find yourself thinking, “I’m covered in semen and my penis aches like it has spent the balance of the weekend underneath a cast iron stove. Should I spend this, my final two dollars, here at this porno theater or should I just call today a smashing success and head out of doors to check when the Seven Bus rolls by?” The answer is the latter. Time to button up those pants, check for TP on the shoe soles and exit the premises.
And yet, despite the choice of clothing and the fact that you look like you haven’t washed your hands since exiting a porno theater, I have sympathy for you. Not so much sympathy as to help you in any way, but sympathy nonetheless. And so, because my bleeding heart compels me, I must say this to you sir: I believe your chances for success would increase if you balled your thumb back into your fist, and walked a block uptown (or downtown, I leave it to your discretion). But, whichever direction you choose, and here’s the key phrase, it must take you away from the porno theater. If you choose this path, you might meet with more success.
I mention all this because, as it stands, the only people you might catch rides from are going to be crazier than you. This means there will be bodies in the trunk. And if there aren’t bodies in the trunk then, I’m reminded of a poker truism: look around the table and if the fool isn’t readily apparent, it’s you.
I must close, but before doing so, I’d like to wish you and your semen-stained hands success in getting to where ever it is you are going. Happy trails. And save two bucks for the bus next time, you dig?