I always want to pick up hitchhikers but never do. I see them as potential story goldmines, rich with tales that will make my head spin. Why are they there in the first place? Where are they going? What on earth motivated them to stick their thumb out in the air? What’s with the fleshy lobe hanging off their face and the constant hip scratching?
But I’m never willing to take the chance that they might want to strangle me or show me something unpleasant. I wish I had some kind of radar gun that told me if someone was just tired of walking, or if someone was really off their kangaroo.
Or an ejector seat. I could pull over and tell them to hop in. I’d give each one an orientation. “Welcome to my ride. By getting into my vehicle, you accept the fact that your seat is wired with high explosives, and should you do anything untowards to the driver, any occupants, or the car itself, the vehicle will automatically send you into outerspace. Thank you. Enjoy the journey.”
I think the radar gun would be less expensive, but you never know. An ejector seat would catch those who would otherwise be considered safe but would go bonkers after getting in my vehicle.