I spent a good chunk of my day on Friday in the car, driving from one property to another, doing my best to mow down all the undergrads wearing headphones without a scintilla of an iota of an ounce of the common sense required to avoid stepping in front of my oncoming vehicle. And if it’s not the half-drunk, hungover masses, then it’s the infernal buzzing of the two stroke, gas powered dildos that hang out in my blind spot for 2 miles before cutting me off. (The rest of the world calls those mopeds, apparently.)

I see absolutely no difference when it comes to riding either of these things.

I’ve seen plenty of strange stuff driving around this mad city. I think we all remember the crazy Stepford wife who spent her entire commute telling my rear view mirror all the different ways she was going to disembowel me.

The year that I moved here, I saw Dave Thomas from Wendy’s bobbing his head at a stop light behind me. He ain’t really dead, people. He’s in deep, deep retirement in the last place anyone would ever look for him – Wisconsin.

And his fat daughter is going to be PISSED when she finds out.

I’ve been stuck behind the train and watched an entire drum solo on the steering wheel of a Gremlin. For a few brief moments, I wanted to have that guy’s greasy haired slacker baby.

Just. Like. This.

I’ve seen a jedi riding a moped, complete with light sabre tucked into a yoda backpack. And it wasn’t even remotely close to Halloween.

Lay off the recreational drugs, you must.

There’s the guy who was shaving in the lane next to me who dropped his electric shaver on his crotch and veered into oncoming traffic. It’s important to be properly groomed and all, but you should probably take your pants off to do it. And, y’know, do it at home.

I’ve seen a husband and wife slap fight in the car in front of ours (and we haven’t had our own slap fight since I realized how ridiculous we look).

But for all the strange shit I’ve seen this past 18 months, Friday was a new one. As I was heading back to the office with my pitiful little lunch salad, I pulled up to a stop light. I really need to stop getting caught at red lights because every time I check my rear view there’s something weird going on. This time was not only par for the course, this was a fucking hole in one. The guy behind me, in his rather nondescript black Honda Civic pulled out a little packet, poured it on his dash, then proceeded to cut it into lines and snorted that shit like he was suffocating and it was life giving oxygen.

Of course everything I just described isn’t really a quick, stop light sort of activity. While he was mid-line, the light turned green, but our boy was nothing if not dedicated. He didn’t step on the gas until every line was safely ensconced in his nasal passages. He made it through the light just in time for it to turn red on everybody else.

Cocaine really is a hell of a drug. I felt just like an extra in the movie Blow, only without the altered mental state or Johnny Depp, but equally disappointed. I think I’ll stick to my wine and Tylenol PM.