The birth of corporate hitchhiking

Let’s make sure you aren’t being misled by the ambiguous title. This isn’t another one of those stories about corporate greed. It’s about hitchhiking to work in a suit. I call it “corporate hitchhiking”. It’s my favourite way to get to work.

This is the brief story of how it started. How it ended. And new beginnings.

The corporate grind

Back in 2011 I was living with friends in the mean streets of Remuera, and working as a lawyer in the CBD. You could walk about 20 minutes to catch a train into the centre, but sometimes we’d bus to the train station to speed things up. These buses weren’t German in their punctuality. One morning a couple of us had time-critical meetings to get to, and the scheduled bus hadn’t turned up. We were a tad exasperated (cause we would have almost been at the train station if we’d walked), so we decided to try and thumb a lift to the station.

A minute later, we were in a car whizzing down the road.

That was a helluva lot faster than waiting for the bus. It was free. And it was an interesting and random way to start the day.

We laughed about it afterwards as being “corporate hitchhiking”. Who hitchhikes in a suit?

Soon afterwards we moved to the Ganstalands of Orakei. We had a prime hitchhiking location: Close to one of the main arteries linking to the CDB. Plenty of traffic heading in that direction. And a perfect intersection close to our flat where people would need to stop and turn anyway.

3 of us in the flat all worked on the same street in town, so we joined forces most days. We got a whiteboard to write “CBD” on. But it wasn’t needed. We never had to wait long. We’d generally get a ride within 3 minutes. We experimented with written messages like “Audis only please”. But the whiteboard was discarded after a week — drivers thought these suited-up hitchhiking folk were quirky enough without goofy messages.

It became the only way we traveled to work. It was addictive. If we left at different times in the morning, we’d email each other to find out “who they’d got”.

The best part was without a doubt the people. We met a cross-section of people from surrounding burbs. There were old ladies, CEOs, students, neighbours, professionals. There were people who’d admit that they’d never picked up a hitchhiker in their lives before “but you lot looked nice”. We met a neighbour and ended up feeding her cat when she went away. We met clients. We met relations of our friends.

And the drivers seemed to get a kick out of it too. We’d get picked up by a guy or girl who’d say “I think my Dad has picked you guys up before, do you remember a guy in a SUV called Kevin”. People went home and relayed the story to their families. It was a random and interesting start to their day too.

End of an era

The good old days came to an end. We got booted out of the flat when the lease ended. One of the mainstay ‘hikers moved to a new burb. Another went traveling.

I moved to Parnell, “retired” from law, and got involved with a startup based in Parnell. No need to hitchhike to work.

Corporate hitchhiking has lain dormant. But it’s time to stage a comeback.

Wellywood

I’ve just moved to Welly — living in Roseneath, and working in the CBD (remotely for the same not-so-startup). The cars move slowly as they snake down the narrow windy roads around our flat. Everyone’s heading to town. I reckon it’s back on.

I regret not keeping a diary of the people I met corporate hitchhiking in Auckland. Some of the people are etched in my memory. Some I still see from time to time when our work crosses paths. But many memories have faded. So I’m gonna try and tap out a very short blog on each of the people I meet corporate hitchhiking in the mornings. Accompanied by photos (if they’re down for that).

People of Roseneath and beyond, I look forward to meeting you.

Bonus section

I’ve often tried to understand why I find hitchhiking so addictive. I reckon it’s because it makes me feel grounded.

You’re forced out of your social bubble and into the lives of others. It’s like going to a dinner with arranged seating. It’s pot luck, but can be rewarding.

And there’s a touch of shame in getting rejected by cars that go by. That humility breeds empathy and gratefulness that seem to last for the rest of the day.

But hey, let’s not forget that it’s very convenient, and it’s free. I’ll be dusting off my thumb and hitting the road on 16 May.