Cigarette flickers and road scrapers

Usually I'm a very tolerant person on the road while I drive. Since I am a very aggressive driver myself, I respond to other people's driving aggression with a cordial empathy without getting unduly incensed in the process.

But there is one act of such unusual flippancy and carelessness performed by many drivers that it vexes me to no end. The casual cigarette-toss out of the window. I have accused many a good mother or sister of carrying on an incestuous relationship with her son or brother respectively, solely on the basis of his habit of flicking a lighted cigarette out of his car while he is driving in front of me. I have no problems with people smoking in their cars. I do have problems with people smoking my car.

This is what I think a smoking driver should do when he is done with his dose of cancer. He should pull into the highway shoulder. He should place the cigarette on the ground. He should stub it with his shoe, making sure it has been extinguished. And then he should pull out. Or, if that's asking for too much, he should at least open the car door while driving, bend down and release the lighted cigarette at ground level so that it does not bounce up into the car behind him.

But it is just inconsiderate of the driver to flick the cigarette deliberately at such an angle that it bounces up on the road and disappears into the space between your bonnet and the road. And that's what happened to me the other day. What if the cigarette's gone into my engine, I wondered. Would it set something ablaze? I tried to think of the various components of my car that are likely to catch on fire and realized that most of them probably were. I also wondered if my insurance would cover me in case there was a fire. Why would they, though? In fact, I realized, I should probably take down the license plate number of the guy who was going to be responsible for my car being burnt to a crisp.

I searched for a pen in the glove compartment. I couldn't find one. Then, I remembered that my keychain had a smallish pen attached to it. Problem was, it was in my jeans pocket. Anyone who has tried to zip up their jeans while driving with their seatbelt on might be able to imagine how difficult it would be to retrieve a keychain out of a jeans pocket. It wasn't easy. I swerved all over the place, most probably causing the guy behind me to search for his own pen in order to write down my license plate number.

Finally, I was successful. I tried writing down the number on my palm. After stabbing myself in the palm a few times, I gave up and instead, used an envelope I found on the seat beside me. After it was done, I looked at what I had written and couldn't make it out. By then the guy had disappeared, and I had to speed up in order to catch up with him. Again, I noted down his number, trying to recall the calligraphy class I had taken in primary school. This time I did a better job.

It was then that I asked myself exactly what the point of writing down the number was. The guy could always deny it. But then, maybe if I proved that he usually can be found at that spot on the highway at that time, I could prove my case to the authorities. For that I would need to find out where he worked and his work-hours. Who would tell me that? His friends wouldn't give him up. Would I have to seduce his wife in order for her to be a corroborative witness? Fuck, this was too much work. It's good I didn't go to Law College. It all looks nice and good on tv but it's a lot of work in practice.

Then, just as I was done with my scheming, I saw a truck in front of me. And the goddamn thing had sparks coming out from under it. Apparently some part of the truck was brushing aginst the tarmac. And the sparks were flying right into my car. With a sigh, I again reached for my jeans pocket. Rinse and repeat.

Luckily, though, my car didn't catch on fire and I didn't have to carry out my scheme. But at least now I know what I would have to do in case it's necessary in the future.