Traffic Jam

A construction-induced coma is never a pleasant thing. Sitting in one spot for twenty minutes for no apparent reason when you only need to travel several feet to the mirage that is the distant junction is not my idea of entertainment. That is, until I glanced in my rear view mirror and spotted - you'll never guess - that the guy behind me, the driver, not the passenger, had decided to put his vehicle vexation to use. HE WAS PLAYING THE TRUMPET!

Picture it if you will; imagine trying to squeeze a trumpet between you and the steering wheel: It won't fit. Well, it's important to keep an eye on traffic, I mean, you don't want to get honked while you're honking, honky. You have to kind of cock your head while simultaneously keeping eyes front and center. I'm sure he caught me watching him in my mirror but it didn't seem to phase him. I just couldn't help it. I couldn't drag my eyes away. What made it worse was that I even sacrificed Rush Bimbo to try and hear what he was playing. I turned that sound way down, I even opened my window a crack - I know, I was risking it; carcinogens and everything. But I couldn't hear a peep. He wasn't faking. His cheeks were puffed right up, there was definitely effort being put forth. Maybe he had one of those muffler things up the bell (that's the correct terminology, I looked it up).