It’s so rare that a driving sighting works out into anything magical. There are so many things that can go wrong and usually do. I found myself in a particularly challenging circumstance as I was stopped at a red light coming out of the Pita Pit where I went to pick up food one early Sunday afternoon in late July 2016. Sitting there, my eyes were immediately drawn to a smurf blue car heading northward on the street I was waiting to turn on to. The driver was a blur but I could tell she was attractive….and I could also tell she had a fairly large cigar in her hand. I needed to make my right turn and fast if I was gonna get anything more out of this, and it worked in my favor that I was turning right and could thus go on a red light so long as traffic wasn’t coming. Unfortunately, there were a few more cars in both lanes that passed in front of me before I was able to make my turn.
Her blue car was a good football field ahead of me and I pushed it to the absolute limit to catch up, gunning the accelerator to nearly 50 mph in a 35 mph zone. On two occasions, traffic lights in front of me turned orange early enough to where I would normally hit the brakes to stop for them, but I timed it just right to zip through them at the second orange turned to red. Combining my rate of speed with the flying through orange lights, if a cop had been nearby I’d have been pulled over, but thankfully I was in the clear. From there it was a matter of weaving through the cars that got ahead of me and somehow, some way, found myself closing in on the smurf blue car where I could see a glorious cigar protruding from female fingers above her steering wheel. Now it was just a matter of closing the final distance and getting parallel to her.
I could see a dark skin tone as I got closer and figured it was probably an African-American girl since blacks are the most likely to smoke tipped cigars. But as I finally got parallel to her car it was clear that it was a white young brunette who was tanned and stunningly gorgeous, dragging copiously from her cigar. It was unreal to see clouds of filthy cigar smoke billowing from this beautiful face as she exhaled. It’s obviously not the easiest thing in the world to watch a girl smoking while driving, and I had another needle to thread as I approached a major intersection where I would normally be turning left. I let her pass me in the left lane and got behind her, hoping I could somehow finesse a way to get my car parallel to hers. She was going straight ahead, and I let one car pull into the left turn lane and then cut behind them, managing to maneuver myself directly parallel to her for an extended red light. I caught every possible break and if I had to replay the situation 100 times I probably couldn’t have pulled off the same amazing series of traffic maneuvers to find myself where I did, but hot damn did I ever get a rich reward for my troubles.
I looked to my right and got my first really good look at her, still prepared that she might be a little tough-looking. Instead, I found myself looking at an impossibly hot girl with a very nice tan and feathered medium brown hair flowing over her shoulders who could not have more perfectly embodied the image of a bubbly sorority girl. I’d guess she was 20 or 21. She was yapping away on some hands-free device and was thus distracted enough that she didn’t notice me putting my passenger window down. My heart melted as I listened to her girlish voice gushing about some superficial matter I couldn’t quite make out, the stench of her plastic-tipped cigar permeating through my open window. It was just an otherworldly image and if I wasn’t witnessing it with my own eyes I’d never be able to reconcile the feminine look and sound of the girl with that six inch smelly cigar in her right hand above the steering wheel, filling her car up with a foul odor. The only downside to this image is that she was so immersed in her conversation she went through a period where she wasn’t hitting the cigar, but thankfully, right before the light finally turned green, the plastic tip of the cigar approached her adorable mouth and she took a shockingly deep five-second drag and inhaled. She formed an O with her lips and exhaled a blast of smoke just as the left turn signal turned green.
I’d have killed to have been in a position to follow her to see where in town she ended up and see how hot of a body she had and what summer attire she was decked out in, but I sacrificed that option when I got into the turn lane to be parallel with her. There would be no way I’d reconnect with her in traffic, but in no way could I be disappointed with how well things turned and what I was able to see based on this chance encounter in traffic. The best part about the smoking fetish is how a simple journey to pick up takeout can produce an image that not only makes your day, but which you’ll remember your entire life.