Now an experienced driver, I can understand what must have been only an inside secret among the nasally-conscious go-getters of the road--that one of the buttons to the driver's left does not only operate the windows of the vehicle, but it also activates a mysterious forcefield that encompasses the vehicle, shielding it and the driver from outside surroundings, as if it were a robe of secrecy thrown on by technological magic.
Truth is, however, that, like magic, this mysterious forcefield is only an illusion. Being safely enclosed within the protective coating of the car--enveloping steel frame, windows up, rooftop down, if applicable--does not support, even meagerly, the forcefield hypothesis, no matter how severely convinced the driver is by the sense of security the car promises, which he may therefore be irreconcilably tempted to dig his nose at the next stoplight, in spite of considerable neighboring traffic.
A vehicular shelter from the outside world simply does not exist, windows up or down (with the trailer being an obvious exception here). Nevertheless, cars still are the choice locale for nose-picking that must occur in public.
Having observed, always unexpectedly, vehicular noseplunging many times, I am still surprised at how the culprits seem oblivious to something that should be as blatantly obvious to them as their own visibility. I have even seen nosepicking done by some of the most unlikeliest of suspects, whether it be some cleancut businessman sweeping through lanes in his sleek BMW, or an oversexed soccermom on her way to her latest appointment with her favorite plastic surgeon.
I don't think there will even be a time of sudden awareness for these booger bandits, for it almost seems like a tradition, unconsciously, and perhaps telepathically, passed from driver to driver, that a camouflaged nosepick is only feasible once you're behind the front wheel. And as long as this tradition lives, there will always be people like me on the watch when least expected--the nosepicking vigilantes, we can be called--people who are of decent enough manners to know that nosepicking is only for the private sphere, whether it should take place while sitting on the coach, laying in bed, eating at the dinnertable, or typing some blog in your personal computer.
Truth is, however, that, like magic, this mysterious forcefield is only an illusion. Being safely enclosed within the protective coating of the car--enveloping steel frame, windows up, rooftop down, if applicable--does not support, even meagerly, the forcefield hypothesis, no matter how severely convinced the driver is by the sense of security the car promises, which he may therefore be irreconcilably tempted to dig his nose at the next stoplight, in spite of considerable neighboring traffic.
A vehicular shelter from the outside world simply does not exist, windows up or down (with the trailer being an obvious exception here). Nevertheless, cars still are the choice locale for nose-picking that must occur in public.
Having observed, always unexpectedly, vehicular noseplunging many times, I am still surprised at how the culprits seem oblivious to something that should be as blatantly obvious to them as their own visibility. I have even seen nosepicking done by some of the most unlikeliest of suspects, whether it be some cleancut businessman sweeping through lanes in his sleek BMW, or an oversexed soccermom on her way to her latest appointment with her favorite plastic surgeon.
I don't think there will even be a time of sudden awareness for these booger bandits, for it almost seems like a tradition, unconsciously, and perhaps telepathically, passed from driver to driver, that a camouflaged nosepick is only feasible once you're behind the front wheel. And as long as this tradition lives, there will always be people like me on the watch when least expected--the nosepicking vigilantes, we can be called--people who are of decent enough manners to know that nosepicking is only for the private sphere, whether it should take place while sitting on the coach, laying in bed, eating at the dinnertable, or typing some blog in your personal computer.
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