"A shuttle will surely pass by," you said optimistically.
You said the same thing three hours ago.
On Earth, hitchhiking is simple. You stand by the road, look pitiful enough, and within ten minutes a friendly soul or someone bored will stop. But on the moon? Apparently, an average of one vehicle passes through here every Tuesday, and even then only if the driver is in the mood.
Every now and then we saw a tiny dot in the distance.
"There! A taxi!"
It turned out to be a rolling stone. We had clearly overestimated gravity.
Behind us was the only sign of civilization: a stall with a sign saying "LUNAR TAXI TICKETS – OPEN." The vendor sat relaxed, helmet half-up, coffee in hand.
"When does the next one leave?" we asked.
"It depends," he said calmly.
"From what?"
"If anyone comes."
That helped enormously.
We tried everything. Thumbs up. Both thumbs up. Jumping and waving (which happened in slow motion due to the low gravity, so it looked like we were performing a tragic space ballet). You even held up a cardboard sign: "To Earth – share gas costs."
No one.
After a while, it began to dawn on us why there was so little traffic. On the moon, there's only one destination: either you're already there, or you're desperately trying to get away.
"Maybe we should just buy tickets," I sighed.
We walked to the booth.
"How much is a ride?" you asked.
"One way or round trip?" the vendor asked.
"What's the difference?"
"One way is expensive. Round trip is optimistic."
We looked at each other. We looked at the empty horizon. We looked at our tired thumbs.
"Back then," you said resolutely.
"When are we leaving?" I asked.
The salesman smiled mysteriously.
"As soon as they find a driver who wants to work here."
And so we learned an important lesson: on the moon, it's not gravity that holds you back...
...it's public transportation. 🚀
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