A Man And His Hummer

Some guys blow their money on women, gambling, and booze. Then there’s “Riv,” a 45-year-old former commodities broker from Chicago. Riv, who claims to be worth $12 million, lives in La Jolla Shores and blows all his money on gasoline – premium, unleaded gasoline. He drives a copper Hummer H2, which gets 12 miles per gallon, wherever he goes, whether it’s a mere two blocks to get a cup of coffee, or the 600-mile round trip to Marin County, where he says he likes to antagonize the hippies.

TNA met Riv in the beach parking lot, three blocks from his house, as he stood in front of his H2 and waxed his surfboard.

TNA: That’s a big car. How much does it cost to fill up the tank?

Riv: More than you have in your pocket, I can tell you that.

I have about forty bucks on me right now.

That’d get you about a half tank. It costs me $100 bucks to fill up. And I use nothing but premium gasoline. Everyone else is buying 87. I buy 91, always, always, always.

I thought Hummers were rugged cars. Why premium?

Oh, this thing is a beast. It runs fine on low-grade gas. It could probably run on pig shit and the garbage in my kitchen if I really wanted it to. But where’s the fun in that? I like to buy the most expensive gas. In this economy, fewer and fewer people are buying premium gas. Somebody’s got to do it.

How often do you fill up?

Every other day.

Every other day! Where are you driving?

I drive everywhere. You name it – to the supermarket, to the beach, to the lemonade stand down the street – I drive it everywhere. I’m not kidding about the lemonade stand. Last weekend, some kids were selling lemonade a few houses down from where I live. They called over to me, “Hey, Mr. Riverson, do you want to buy some lemonade?” I yelled back, “Sure. Gimme a minute.” So, I jumped in the H2, cranked some Buffet and drove about 100 feet over to their stand. I stopped right in front of them and ordered a lemonade. Other cars had to drive around me to get past.

What did the kids think?

They asked me why I drove over, and I told them that I didn’t feel like walking. They just shook their heads, but I don’t care. What do they know?

Did they appreciate your business?

No, the opposite. [laughing] They gave me a hard time about holding up traffic and blocking off their stand. They said that I was keeping other customers from buying. So, I taught them a lesson. I sat in this big tank in front of their stand for like ten minutes slowly drinking my lemonade. Cars were swerving into the other lane to get around me. It was fantastic.

If I were one of those kids, I would have been pissed.

Oh, they weren’t too happy. They were yelling, “Come on, Mr. Riverson, move your car! We’re losing business.” I just gave them ten bucks each and told them to relax. They shut up after that.

So, you bought them off.

I bought them off, but remember, lemonade is a commodity, just like gasoline. I told them that I could go to the Vons up the street and get the same lemonade for half of what they were selling it for. I taught them a valuable lesson: take care of the people who are willing to pay more for your product. Keep your mouth shut and don’t complain.

You also travel a few times a year up to Marin County and antagonize the hippies?

Oh, yeah, I love doing that. I live for that shit! [laughing] My brother lives up there and works for a non-profit – he’s the runt of the litter. He’s a real hippie. I go up there and visit him three or four times a year. I take the Hummer up there and park it in front of his house. He always wants me to put it in the driveway, behind the house, but I never do.

He was having a dinner one time and had a bunch of his granola friends over. A couple of these people started giving me a hard time for driving a Hummer, you know, really talking down to me. I told them to settle down, that I was helping out the economy by buying $500 worth of premium gas to get up to Marin. But they just wouldn’t let up. So, I got pissed and said, “You know what? I think she’s [the Hummer] a little thirsty. I’m gonna let her drink a little.” I went out and turned on the car, left it in idle, and came back into the house. They were bouncing off the walls, but I didn’t give a fuck. I said, “She’s a little hot, too,” and I mentioned that I cranked the air conditioning.

What did they do?

Oh, it was very contentious. Some harsh words were exchanged, I won’t lie to you. This guy with a pony tail said he was going to go out and turn off my car. I told him if he did that I’d break his fucking neck. So, if you can picture it, these environmentalists had to have their tofu and bean dinner party while this gas-guzzling Hummer is idling for hours in front of their house. It was a serious downer for them.

You live three blocks away, but you drove here?

Damn right. Those are three blocks that I’d rather not traverse with a surfboard in my hand. I just throw my gear in the Hummer and drive. The fucked-up thing is that it took me ten minutes to get a parking spot. I drive a big car, and I had to wait – idling, of course – for some other gas guzzler to leave.

How do you afford to just waste gasoline like that?

Short answer: I’m rich. I busted my ass on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange for 12 years. I worked hard, and now I get to do whatever I want. That includes dating women half my age and driving wherever I want, whenever I want, in whatever I want.

You have a younger girlfriend?

I do. She’s a 24-year-old model.

What happens if gas goes up to $10 a gallon?

Great! Bring it on! I might have to buy a dump truck, or something. Ever seen “Road Warrior”? I’ll be driving around out in the desert in my dump truck, doing donuts and cool shit like that, because I have more fuel than I know what to do with, while the rest of you are living off cat food and killing each other for an ounce of gas.

Where are you going after we finish this talk?

No plans. I think I might drive around until I get low on gas. Life is good.