Vox Nihilim

So as I sit parked at a red light this morning, I casually look over to see if the person next to me is driving a bigger piece of shit then I am. It's a fun game I like to play called "Try and feel superior over someone else's car, when you're driving around in a complete catbox on four wheels." I rarely win, but when I do it's like a tall drink of cold water. So I check it out. Nope. Not this time. It's a late model Lexus. My vehicle doesn't actually even qualify as a "car" by comparison. I might as well be riding around on a saddled goat or a Segway. Displeased with my loss... but hardly surprised... I am about to turn back to watch the light when I see it.

There are things you witness in your life that could qualify as "glorious". I'm talking about that which makes you a better human being for having been graced with its visage. I'm not saying this elderly, refined business man, with two, entire, hairy knuckles jammed up his right nostril counts as such... I'll leave that to the historians, when they write about the event that changed my life forever... I'm just saying "Wow". I mean this guy was rooting around in there like the antidote for some poison a gang of ruthless kidnappers had given his only daughter was in there somewhere. He was doing the whole mouth contorting thing, like maybe he was poking his brain stem and momentarily losing muscle control in his face.

Of course, I started laughing and narrating as his mouth made dramatic "oooh" and "ahhh" shapes.

"I think... I can... just reach... the tip. Hand me.... that... poleaxe! Quick! I can...almost...ahh..ahhh..ahhh...".

I'm laughing hysterically at myself at this point. The guy scowls for a second, pulls back the finger to a more reasonable depth, reseats his grip, and then plunges again. I almost peed my pants. Really.

That's when he looked over.

We locked eyes for a moment. His index finger was still distorting the wall of his nostril into the tall shape of a shotgun shell. I could see the finger wriggling around under the skin. I stopped laughing almost instantly. For whatever reason, I felt like I was the one who had been caught. It played out like a high-noon showdown. Him with his trigger finger buried up his nose, me trying to wipe the tears from my eyes. We stayed like that for a second. I could picture Ma and Pa Jones, hustling their half-wit son off the boardwalk in front of the 5 and 10 as the shadow of a buzzard turned circles in the dust around us. A tumbleweed blows past. The clock ticks to 12pm.

And then he scowled at me.

That's right. HE scowled at ME. Because I had the audacity to catch him picking his nose. I think he was pissed off because I had deprived him of a hard-won meal. No way could he eat whatever species of flora and/or fauna he had just extricated from his nasal cavity knowing he was in plain sight. I found myself getting angry at his lack of embarrassment. I felt like shouting "Dude! You were totally just picking your nose! I saw you! You drive a $50,000 luxury car and you're still mining the green gold!"

I didn't say that though. Instead I just sort of blinked a bunch because then the lights changed, and he tore off...desperate to get started on his phlegmy breakfast.

Booger-Eating Morons: 1
Kurt: 0