I promise not to pluck my chin hair in public

I’ve stopped at a red light and, contrary to my regular obliviousness, I actually look at the drivers in the cars next to me. I almost never do this. It’s a little bit of a family joke that one of them can drive next to me for blocks, miles and I won’t recognize them; I see the cars, but I don’t actually “see” the cars. To me they’re just moving objects.

So when I look at the cars next to me, it’s intended to be a quick glance. But it ends up with me staring rudely into another car for far longer than I should. I know I’m staring. I want to stop. But I can’t.

The woman in the car to my left is plucking her chin hair while we’re at the red light. She has a small mirror in one hand and tweezers in another and she’s plucking hair from her chin one by one, meticulously. Pluck, pause, pluck, pause, pluck. And I can’t look away.

Does she not realize that we can see her?
Is she under the impression that the windows have some sort of privacy blocking feature?
Does she actually think it’s okay to do this in public?

And I continue to stare as all of this goes through my head. And then she notices me staring.

I smile and look away when she glares at me, as if I’ve somehow invaded her privacy by looking into her car and watching her pluck her chin hair … while we’re sitting at the red light. And she gets back to finishing her task.

Then the longest red light in history changes to green and she goes her way and I go mine.

However, I’ve decided that I need to address the issue of whether or not it’s okay to do this in public. I’m thinking that I need to start a viral “I promise” campaign. “I promise not to pluck my chin hair in public. It’s not okay.

Pass it on. Maybe it’ll reach chin woman and she’ll stop inflicting her grooming habits on those of us unlucky enough to be stuck at a red light with her.

And maybe next time I won’t stare.

I didn’t know you could do that while driving!

2013.09 Driving 3363262014_5fa5e911b4_z“There was a guy masturbating in the car next to mine last week while I was driving down the highway,” I tell my friends over dinner.

One of my friends nearly choked on the wine she had just sipped. They all looked at me with equal expressions of fascination and horror. There were some people in neighboring tables with similar expressions (I never learned to use an “inside” voice).

“What?” sputters one of them. I smile and tell them the story.

I was driving down 288 going home, doing my usual 70 miles an hour down a mostly empty freeway. It was still light out but it was past the rush hour. I was driving a Ford Explorer, so I was sitting pretty high up from the ground. To my left pulled up a sports car, a convertible with the top down. I looked over to make sure I wasn’t drifting too close and saw… well, he was pumping away with his left hand.

I turned back to looking straight ahead fast, not wanting to accidentally kill myself or anyone else. What did I just see? No. No. I’m wrong. I didn’t just see that.

I will not look. I will not look. I will not look.

The sports car was keeping pace with me, staying on my left while we took curves and dips. And I could see, from the corner of my eye, he was still… “busy.”

So I slowed down, thinking I’d let this guy speed ahead and lose him.
And he slowed down.

I sped up, trying to lose him.
And he sped up.

Okay, this is just ridiculous. I’m being flashed by a pervert, going 70 miles an hour down a Texas highway.
And I could tell, even though I didn’t want to be aware of it, that his “activity” continued.

I finally maneuvered several other cars between us and lost him that way. And I don’t know what happened to him after that. I do know that my story of what happened entertained an entire restaurant, it was just that gross and unexpected.

This is the kind of thing that only happens to me.
My friends agree.

Photo courtesy of Thomas Anderson via http://www.flickr.com/photos/75814942@N00/3363262014.