Read What I'd Say to the Martians for Free Online Page A

asked him to also look at my car, and although he insisted that he wasn’t a mechanic, he said it looked okay to him.
    I wondered if I harbored some secret animosity toward hitchhikers, so I went to a psychiatrist. He gave me a test. First, he handed me a framed picture of a hitchhiker and asked me my thoughts. My first thought was to wonder why someone would frame a picture of a hitchhiker, but he wanted more. “I hope he gets a ride,” I said of the picture, and put it down. Then he gave me a framed picture of a driver. “I hope he has a safe journey,” I said. Then I accidentally dropped the driver picture onto the hitchhiker picture, breaking it. The psychiatrist asked me not to come back, so I guess I passed.
    Has drinking been involved? Unfortunately, yes. Not prior to the accidents, but afterward. If you have ever seen the terrifying face of a hitchhiker pressed against your windshield, or heard his angry words as you sped away, then you, too, would need to go home and have a stiff drink.
    Some people say, Why don’t you quit driving altogether? It’s funny, but after each hitchhiker you hit, you think, That’s got to be the last one. Then, of course, it isn’t. But even if you stop driving, you can’t avoid hitchhikers. They’re part of our culture. When you walk from one room to another, aren’t you giving “hitchhikers” a ride? (I’m not sure, I’m just asking.)
    So what can be done? I believe that, working together, hitchhikers and I can cut down on the number of them I am hitting. For hitchhikers, I would suggest:
 
Don’t hitchhike on a curve, because a lot of times you can’t control a car when you’re going around a curve, and you drift up onto the shoulder. Don’t stand on a straight stretch of highway either, because sometimes the straightness can make a driver confused, and he’ll start swerving all over the place.
Don’t hold up a sign, because when you read something, you naturally aim for it.
Don’t wave that thumb back and forth, because that can mesmerize a driver.
     
    I am trying to do my part. For one thing, when I drive at night, I always make sure my lights are on. Also, I have installed a loud warning siren on my car, which I blast when I’m close to a hitchhiker. I have a lot of other ideas, which I write down on my notepad while I’m driving.
    I don’t blame hitchhikers. They’re simply doing what nature intended. Hitchhiking is not evil, but neither is it the panacea some people think it is. I foresee a day when I will spot a hitchhiker on the side of the road, and I will wave politely as I drive by. Or I will pull over, throw open the door, and say, “Hop in, buddy.” And I won’t stop the car too late, so that I bump the guy and send him sliding on his back in the gravel and then he angrily runs up and grabs onto my rear bumper as I try to get away, and I have to fishtail back and forth to shake him off. That day is not quite here, but it’s coming.

The Respect of the Men
     
    A s leader of the expedition, I have come to realize that there is one thing more important than any other—and that is the respect of the men. It is more valuable than your gun, or your knife, or the blue terry-cloth slippers that keep your feet so toasty around the campfire at night.
    In fact, the respect of the men can be even more important than the success of the mission itself. So if you’re not exactly sure what the mission is, you may not want to ask the men, because you might lose their respect.
    You don’t get the respect of the men right away. You can try, by getting down in the dirt and begging them for it, or by kissing their boots, or by doing your funny cowboy dance for them. But trust me, these are not going to work.
    No, respect is something that has to be earned. And earned slowly, like a fine, respectful wine. You can’t try to earn it all at once, maybe by doing something like yelling out, “Hey, watch this!” and then rolling all the way down the side of a