Snoring

Today is Friday. The weather clear and cool. The bright orange sun peeked over the horizon while I wound my way along the country roads. Then I hit I-95 and realized my gas tank needed a fill.

Okay, no big deal.

Stopped at the nearest diesel station, filled my Jetta with stinky, greasy fuel, then made my way to the commuter lot.

There was a line.

Okay, again, no big deal.

I played with my phone, caught up on some blogs, deleted fifty e-mails I received overnight and checked Twitter. Twenty minutes later, a couple guys got in my car. I cracked a joke about how they were late, to which neither responded—Grr! Does anyone appreciate humor anymore?—and got on my way.

The man in the front seat lives on the larger side of life. He had to recline all the way back, but the man behind him didn’t seem to mind.

Life was good—until we got to the first traffic light.

Man in the front seat started playing with his phone. I wouldn’t have cared if the volume was down low, but it wasn’t and every couple seconds I heard clack-clack-clack as he selected different things on his touch screen.

Okay, I’ll let it slide. He wasn’t as bad as Mr. Clickity Clears Throat.

Then heavy-set man in the front fell asleep and snored. Not just a little snore here and there…I mean he SNORED and SNORTED. Occasionally he’d do one or the other so loud, he’d wake up, click his phone—like he was pretending to be awake—then set right back to snoring.

What did I do? I turned the radio up louder and louder and louder and slammed on my breaks every chance I could get. In the end, they were probably dying to get out of my car and that was great, because I wanted nothing more for them to disappear.

Sigh.