A short story by Craig Cormick
I had just reached the outskirts of Canberra when I saw the hitchhiker. Standing by the side of the Federal Highway. Thumb out. I had a quick look at him, ready to look away again. But he held my interest. He wasn't your normal hitchhiker. He was middle-aged, overweight and wearing a suit. I slowed down a little to get a better look at him. Then he made eye contact and held my gaze. He smiled. He knew he'd got me.
I slowed down and stopped. He walked slowly up to the car as I carefully regarded him in the rear-view mirror. I thought for a moment about planting my foot on the accelerator and driving off again, but then he had opened the door and squeezed in.
"Gidday", he said. "The name's Phil!" And he held out a pudgy soft hand for me to shake.
"Uh — hi", I said as he pumped my hand up and down. "Where are you headed?"
"Well, Brisbane ultimately", he said, "but getting to Sydney today would be fine. And if you're going to Sydney, I'm going to Sydney."
"Well, actually, I'm only going as far as Bowral", I said, "So perhaps ..."
"Then I'm going to Bowral", he said, tilting my rear-view mirror towards himself so he could look at his face and pat down his few thinning hairs on top of his head.
He looked pretty harmless, so I said, "Okay", and we headed off down the highway.
As we drove I looked him over carefully out of the side of my eyes. It had been years since I'd picked up a hitchhiker. Certainly not anywhere within two hours' drive of the Belanglo State Forest.
He has immaculate shoes on. Well-pressed pants. A clean matching jacket and a neat shirt and tie. Also he looks loaded. So why is he hitchhiking? I'm busting to know, but I don't know how to ask him.
So I look down at his shoes and say, "Nice shoes".
"Yeah", he says. "Italian leather. Really comfortable."
"Oh?", I ask.
"Er — you don't work in the TCF industries do you?", he asks.
"Me? No. Why?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just thought you might have had something about imported footwear. You know how some people are."
I didn't know. But I nodded.
"So what do you do?", I ask him.
"I'm training to be a minister", he says.
"Which church?", I ask.
"The biggest in town."
I thought about that for a moment. "C of E?", I ask.
"Ha!", he laughs. "No. Parliament. I'm a backbencher in the government."
I looked across at him. He was bullshitting me. Right? He smiles back squarely.
"A backbencher?"
"Yeah. Parliament has just broken up for a few weeks."
So now I had to ask. "Then — why are you hitchhiking?"
"Mal-bloody-Colston!"
"How do you mean?"
"It's all Mal-bloody-Colston's fault, you see", he says. "Because he was rorting the travel allowances so much they've abolished them."
"So all backbenchers have to hitchhike to Canberra now?" I still reckon he's bullshitting me. He is probably a scientologist or something, and he's developed a new angle, and once we get out on the remote highway near Lake George, he's going to hit with all that life changing crap.
"No. They've put the allowances in our salary. So we don't get freebies any more. Not unless we hitch, anyway."
"But they still pay for your trips, right?"
"It's not the same thing", he says. "Travel allowance is a freebie. Salary is salary. And nobody wants to have to spend their salary on travel."
I thought about that for a moment, and then I ask, "Then where are all the other MPs? Why aren't they hitching as well?"
"There was a big crowd of them there earlier", he says. "Some got picked up by a bunch of old ladies on a charter coach going up to Sydney to be in the audience of the Mid-Day Show. The others got picked up one by one."
"I see", I say. He's certainly sticking to his story. We drive on in silence for a moment. And then it starts raining.
"I'm glad you stopped", he says, "This is an $800 suit. I'd hate to have gotten it wet."
Maybe he isn't a scientologist, I think. Maybe he is a network marketer and he is going to pull out all these brochures for cleaning liquids in a moment.
He looks around the car and then points to my Wilderness Society sticker on the side window. "Are you a member?", he asks.
"I sure am", I say. "What's your political stance on the environment?" That'd test him.
"I support the environment", he says.
"What about foreign aid?", I ask.
"Are you a supporter of that?" he asks.
"Yep."
"I support that too", he says.
"How did you vote on it in the budget?", I ask him.
"Oh, I had to vote against it. Party decision. I didn't have a choice."
"So you follow the party line?"
"Always. Got to. Only way to become a minister."
"But what about the Andrews Bill? How did you vote on euthanasia?"
Now he looks a little uncomfortable. He winds down the window a little bit to let in some fresh air, and asks, "Well how would you have voted if you were given the opportunity?"
"I'm for it", I say.
"So am I", he says quickly. "All for it."
"Uh, the bill or euthanasia?", I ask.
"Well — whichever it is that you're for", says Phil. Or Gill. "If you're for it, then I'm for it."
Now he was starting to piss me off a little bit. Whatever he was, his act was starting to wear thin. "Are you only saying that because it's raining outside and it's a long way to walk?"
"Of course not", he says. "That's how public opinion and public policy work."
"Tell me", I say.
"Well, it's like this. If there's a hard issue, you check with the electorate, see what they think and then you decide."
"Based on what?"
"Following the majority's view."
"Is that why there are all these policy leaks all the time, so you can see how people will react and then make your decisions accordingly?"
"That's it", he says. "You're getting the idea. Of course, it's a lot more complex than just that. But you've got the general picture."
I look him up and down again. Was he bullshitting me or not? I'm not sure. If he is bullshitting me, should I let him go on with this crap, and if he isn't, should I just boot him out? I mean, a Liberal backbencher in my car! The embarrassment of it!
"So how did you get in parliament?", I ask him.
"Buggered if I know", he says. "I've stood for election for the past three times, just because I heard it would look good on my CV, but at the last election the local safe Labor candidate was dumped and the Libs marched in and I was marching with them."
I shook my head. "So that's how it works", I say.
"It's pretty scary when you think about it", he says.
I have to agree.
"So what did you do before?" I ask him. "Run a fish and chip shop?"
"No. I was an accountant. Small firm. Mostly tax minimisation and bankruptcies."
"So you'd be pretty well qualified for government then", I say.
"Better than some of those barrister boof-heads", he says. "They wouldn't know a constituent if they tripped over one. They'll probably be there in the audience of the Mid-Day Show, quizzing the old dears on implications of working for the dole." He looks up into the still tilted mirror again and starts practising smiles.
Shit! Maybe he really was an MP. He was dopey and conceited enough.
Suddenly there is a breep-breep-breeping. I look at the dashboard and frown. The car has never made that noise before.
"Pardon me", says Phil. Or Bill. And he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a tiny mobile phone."
"Hello? — Yes. Yes. — Uh — I don't know, just let me check." He turns to me. "It's the party whip", he says. "They're doing a head count for support for that Wik stuff. What do you reckon?"
I thought about that for a moment and then say, "Well, actually I'm a pastoralist. I own huge tracts of land in Queensland. And so do all my friends and family, so I'm speaking for them when I say this. I think we've reconsidered our position, and we'd really like to see Aboriginal groups retain native title over the land."
"Is that right?", he asks.
"You heard it from the electorate", I say.
"Thanks", he says.
"Look", he says, "I've just checked that one with the electorate and I think we should reconsider our position. That's right. The electorate!"
"Hey thanks for that", he says, putting away his phone. "That was really helpful. You've got to appear on top of these things if you want to become a minister." He shifts his fat bum in the seat and then says, "Here, look, you might be able to do me another favour."
"What's that?"
"Well I've just been appointed to sit on this joint party committee to look into media ownership, and I'm going to have the casting vote, but I don't really understand anything about it. What do you reckon?"
"Well it's funny you should ask that", I say, "because I can tell you that the electorate has real strong opinions on that ..."