And so, by popular demand, Optimuscrime Halifax presents a story of suspense and drama. A tale of excitement, shock, and danger! Gather all ye readers and listen (or read) with wonder.

Our story takes place on the highway turnoff just outside of Quebec City, Quebec. We were two young hitchhikers, Erin and myself. Full of fresh exuberance, and Jewish-style bagels, we looked warmly to the trip ahead. Having spent a carefree and fulfilling two days in Montreal, we were on the road home, to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Our last ride, Philip, had dropped us off just before the onramp, and just after having received a hefty three hundred dollar speeding ticket. We shook his hand, wished him luck with his newfound money problems, and parted ways.

Walking up highways, searching for the best place to start a voyage (and it is a new voyage with each ride) is a special skill. We strolled forward hoping to get past the inevitable onramp which would feed our stretch of highway with a bountiful supply of fresh rides. As we walked, another road curved in, and met ours to the right, but we noticed that ours and theirs did not connect in the foreseeable future, but were separated by a cement island. (see figure A) We stayed on our stretch, and headed up to better concrete.


figure A.

Just as we were about to pass the main entrance curve of our near-adjoining road, we heard a honk. A young man and woman in a beat up hatchback (Car A) had pulled to the side of their road, at the opening of the turn. He waved hurriedly, and told us to come over. (which was obvious from his motions, but he spoke only french, and so we didn't know what he was actually saying.) Confused, we gestured that we were in fact staying on our present road, and that we would pass, thank you very much. He motioned more, and pointed up ahead on his road (which we later understood to mean that the two roads merged ahead, and that we should just get in there.) and again offered his car. We, unable to see the merge, declined the invitation, and began to walk away.

Car A continued to gesture, while the lineup of cars behind him gathered length. As we walked away, the car directly behind Car A (Car B) took it's opportunity and pulled out, onto the shoulder, and attempted to pass Car A. Unfortunately, Car B chose the exact same moment to do this, as Car A had chosen to give up on his quest to pick us up, and rejoin traffic. As Car A pulled forward, he met the side of Car B with a scrape, and a crash!

The two cars stopped dead with a loud screech of grinding metal, and we stopped dead as well. And we turned around to look. Had we just caused an accident? We couldn't tell. We had no idea where to place ourselves in this situation, so we contented with watching, frozen to the ground, and hoping like mad that none of this was really due to us.

As we watched, the driver of Car B got out, and made his way over to Car A's driver's side window. He was a tall, burly man, with a moustache, and a polo shirt. He swore expertly in french, and yelled with more vigour and genuine anger than I have heard in a long time. Car A's driver was a french college jock. Tall, but not overly large, wearing a shaved head, and soccer shorts, both of which had the appearance of functional comfort rather than conscious fashion choices. After yelling for only a minute at most, we watched Mr. B (Car B's driver) strike Mr. A in the head, through the driver's side window! This was when things escalated.

Mr. A got out of his car, and the intensity of the yelling increased tenfold. As their voices rose, Mr. B got visibly more and more irate, while Mr. A tried his best to talk him down while still holding his ground. The more Mr. A talked, the angrier Mr. B got, until eventually the event degraded into full out assault. We watched with horror as Mr. B pushed, and hit Mr. A repeatedly, and then began to kick large dents in the side of the little hatchback. All the while, both of their companions (lady-friends) stood and watched, one with fear, the other with total disregard. And we, from across the road, watched too, and wondered if we should be intervening, should be doing at least something more than watching.

But what could we do?

The most intriguing part was that Mr. B also made frequent attempts to flag down other cars, and demand use of a cellphone, or for them to call the police to the accident-scene. We were dumbfounded. I mean, this man obviously believed the accident to have been 100% the fault of Mr. A, (arguably, he was partially at fault, having pulled over too soon after the onramp.) even though his attempt to pass on the shoulder had clearly been an equal-contributor. But the true wonder in this case was the mentality of a man (Mr. B) who would so adamantly insist the police be called, WHILE PHYSICALLY ASSAULTING A MAN. The extreme lack of foresight was in some ways, admirable.

Eventually, after things had calmed down a bit, (and I use that term loosely, meaning that there was no longer any hitting, but still plenty of yelling.) we realized that the police would soon be on their way. And the police would ask questions. And sooner or later, it would come up that this whole scenario had begun with Mr. A stopping in an attempt to pick up two hitchhikers. Not wanting to be caught up in questioning, and police beaurocracy, and then remembering that hitchhiking is illegal, we decided that we didn't want to be around when the police showed up.

We caught the eye of Mr. A, waved him a sheepish wave/shrug, and yelled "We're so sorry. We have to go.". He gave us an understanding and kind look, and then, with a visibly heavy heart, returned his gaze to the man who was berating his family, and threatening violence upon him until the police were to arrive.