Out of Sorts

This morning I see the sun calling and to put the top down on the new car. I take off for work to a dance version of Gnarls Barkley's Crazy. I think that got under my skin.

As I'm pulling on to southbound 101 from Army, AKA Caesar Chavez, I see a woman hitchhiking. She's got no bags, is clean and dressed normally. I pick her up. She initially asks to go to Sequoia National Park, but I say I can't take her that far, and she asks for the airport. Is explain I'm going to San Bruno and she says fine. And we're off.

As we start to get going, she seems silghtly distressed and anxious. She tells me her name is Simone and I introduce myself as well. She isn't into answering any questions which is fine, as her answers seem off. I'm try to figure out if she is either on drugs (which seems unlikely, as her behavior is unlike many drug addicts and her clothing isn't that of a chronic user), or off drugs which makes me want to take her to a pharmacy. Finally she casually says that she hears voices.

"Oh. " I try to sound casual, like I hear that all the time. I'm getting anxious - what do I do with her? My dad is a psychiatrist and, as a teen, he'd kid me about calling in a 5150 - the police code for taking someone into custody who is a bit, um, touched or having a tough time. I was imagining the call: "Dad, Hi!"..."Good, and you?"..."Listen, I've got a crazy person in my car, what do I do?"

Right.

As it turns out, she also thinks that she is going to be assassinated. Hmm, I just hope it doesn't happen while in my new car. Terrible of me, I know. But as we're stuck in traffic, she's getting more nervous, so I'm waiting to see a black car filled with extras from the cast of The Sopranos, their guns poking out of cracked windows speeding by and letting loose.

She wants me to put the top up on the car. We're going 65 mph. That isn't an option.

But nothing happened. I offered to drop her off at the Airport Car Rental place - it has a tram and she could take that over to the airport, but "that won't work" she tells me. Really? I refrain from asking, "Why not?" We agree to drop her off in the downtown of South San Francisco. I'm hoping for the best for her.

While I felt quite rattled, but not as rattled as I felt 20 minutes later when I saw my quota, nothing really happened from this micro-adventure. I can't quite call it an adventure either, as the ex-husband had drilled into me, "It isn't an adventure until something goes dramatically wrong." For me, nothing went wrong.