The guy behind me is drumming for all he’s worth with open palms on his steering wheel. Buddy Rich was never so into it. How I wish I could hear what he’s listening to.
The guy behind me has his radio turned up to Mach 1. The bass is shaking everything inside my car and everything inside my head. How I wish I could not hear what he’s listening to.
The guy behind me has a little dog on his lap. He’s cute. The dog, I mean. But I’m afraid he’s going to jump out of the open window. The dog, I still mean.
The guy behind me is texting. Which isn’t so bad, I guess, because we’re stopped at a red light. But the light changed a few seconds ago and when I pulled out, he didn’t. The drivers behind him are now leaning on their horns.
The guy behind me is a girl. She’s putting on eye makeup and looking in her rearview mirror. And we’re both going 45 miles an hour.
The guy behind me is tailgating. All I can think about is that “Mayhem” commercial. I can’t take my eyes off him. Sure hope his exit comes up soon.
The woman behind me has a baby in an infant seat behind her. I can tell by the way she turns around to check on the tyke at every red light. I like this. No worries about her forgetting the baby is there and leaving it behind when she gets to work.
The guy behind me just let me pull out in front of him from a side street. Bless his heart. I give him a wave. He waves back.
The guy behind me has his blinker on. It’s been on for the last five minutes. Guess he doesn’t know. Oh, wait. My blinker’s on too. Wonder if he’s trying to send me a message. I turn off mine. He turns off his. And flashes me a thumbs up sign.
The guy behind me is trying to fish something out of his glove compartment. Hope he finds it soon. He’s making me nervous.
The guy behind me is picking his nose. I’m sorry I see this. Wonder if he knows I did. Wonder if anyone’s ever seen me.
The woman behind me is driving a Tesla. I don’t consider myself a car person. But right now, I’m jealous.
The guy behind me throws me the finger. I have no idea why. I liked that thumbs up better.
The guy behind me is vaping. I realize that’s vapor not smoke pouring out of his window. But no cigarette ever produced a cloud that size.
The guy behind me has his eye on the same parking space I do. I let him have it. Why not?
The two girls behind me are singing. Their joy is infectious.
The guy behind me is a cop. I’m doing nothing wrong. But still I’m totally on edge. He turns off at the next intersection. Good.
The guy behind me is driving a garbage truck. Better behind than in front.
The girl behind me has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. They’re on the headlights of her VW Bug. This time, I’m the one who flashes a thumbs up.
The guy behind me is blinking his lights. His message is clear. I’m going too slow to suit him. He thinks I’m not getting it. I am. I just won’t give him the satisfaction.
The guy behind me throws me the finger. This time, I do know why.
The guy behind me is eating a massive hoagie. I have no problem with this. As long as he doesn’t toss the wrapper out the window.
The guy behind me is Santa Claus. Probably on his way to a party. I wish my kids were with me. And still little.
The guy behind me doesn’t know why I’ve suddenly stopped. He starts to swerve around me. Then he sees the deer too. He shoots me a smile. And then makes a gesture like he’s wiping sweat from his brow. I shoot one back. And do the same thing.
The guy behind me is afraid he has a piece of broccoli or spinach stuck in his teeth. He keeps grinning into his mirror to check. I know the feeling.
The guy behind me is wearing a Packers hat. It’s the day of the NFC Championship game. I take it as a good sign. I am proven wrong.
The guy behind me clearly thinks I’m going to run this yellow light. But I’m not. Hope he realizes this before it is too late.
The guy behind me is wearing a cowboy hat. Makes me think of my brother Bill and I start to laugh. Not long after he moved to Texas several years ago, he told a guy, “Nice cowboy hat.”
“Down here, Bill,” the guy answered, “we just call it a hat.” Hope the fellow behind me doesn’t think I’m laughing at him.
Ed Ackerman writes The Optimist every week. Look for his blogs online during the week at pittstonprogress.com