Unless your acquaintances consist of only me and Kim Jong Il, I'm probably not the friendliest person you know. I don't really care for handshakes, I really only begrudgingly (and occasionally at that) hug the closest people to me, and please, for the love of Allah, don't kiss me. I find a slight head nod and a healthy respect for the personal bubble to be a pretty good greeting. But I hate to come off like some villain, a misanthrope, a monster from 300. I really don't dislike anyone, and I never say bad things about other people, unless they're French or underachieving Major League Baseball players. But sometimes, every now and then, I do let a little sarcasm slip.
It wasn't the fault of the surprisingly gorgeous chick directing traffic that we were all crawling along like none of us needed to get home and take a leak. But as I sat still in traffic, something about her perpetual smile and arm waving me forward made me stare right at her and snap, "Really? I was going to put it in reverse so I could idle in line for 30 minutes again." But I guess pretty girls are used to dealing with jerks, because she just went on smiling and directing, like a potential Miss America that just needed to practice on her wave. Or maybe smiling is an unavoidable expression for someone making a hard hat and fluorescent vest look good, and earning $45/hr for it. Come to think of it, maybe the traffic was her fault.
I leave you with a traffic-related joke you can tell to your passengers, if it looks like a delay is not already causing them enough pain:
A driver is stuck in a traffic jam on the highway. Nothing is moving. Suddenly a man knocks on his window.
The driver rolls down his window and asks, "What's happening?"
"Terrorists have kidnapped the president and first lady. They're asking for a $10 million ransom. Otherwise they are going to douse them with gasoline and set them on fire. We are going from car to car, taking up a collection."
The driver asks, "How much is everyone giving, on average?"
"About a gallon."