The Reality Institute

When You Ride Alone, You Ride with Hitler! by Andrew David

8:40 am Friday: I’m early for work, so I get a decent parking spot today. I “forget” to crack a window for Hitler again. “Ich bein suffokätten!” he howls. “No habla, herr führer,” I shrug, “no habla… heh, heh.”
The morning goes by slowly.

11:55 am: Lunch. I go to the McDonalds drive-thru; they’re having a “two quarter pounders for $2.99” thing, so I get that. Hitler gets the Happy Meal, but I take his prize. “Mein!” he protests, “Ist mein Chewbacca mit der schnauzerkopf!” He makes a futile grasp with his ghostly mitts — but passes right through it. “Pity…” I muse, “though I suppose I don’t really want it, anyhow.” Hitler brightens; I throw the toy out the window.

The afternoon picks up a little. About two o’clock, one of the guys from the office next door comes poking around. “Is that anybody’s red Contour out there?” he asks. “It’s mine,” I say. “What about it?”

“Well, it’s got Hitler in it,” he says.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, “he came with it.”

“Well, you better join a car-sharing club if you don’t want to keep riding with Hitler.”

“Nobody here drives by my house,” I say. “I live in Berkley. They all live in Wyandotte.”

“I’m coming from Huntington Woods,” says the guy. “You can ride with me.”

“Hitler, you — what’s the difference?” I say. The guy leaves in a snit.

5:00 pm: The whistle blows. Hitler and I drive in silence for several miles. He turns to me with a feeble smile. “Verk?” he asks, “Ess güden däg?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” I say. “Good day at work.”

“When You Ride Alone, You Ride with Hitler”
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