I'd say roughly 95% of everyone I drive past in the morning is a vice commutor.
Some smoke cigarettes, some smoke weed. Some drink coffee, some drink redbull, some tip flasks. Some people do blow off of CD cases, some pop pills. Some people masturbate, some... yes, some masturbate.
It takes a while to start recognizing the same people, but after getting to the highway between 7:40 and 7:45 for nearly a year, familiar faces begin to emerge from the crowd. That woman who smokes Parliaments, but bites the paper foreskin off the filter before she does, always gets on at Main Street. The guy who packs a bowl at Park and hits it passing the gas station is there most mornings. He works with computers, I think (or steals monitors and keeps them in his back seat). There's another guy who gets on at 42 who dumps his shiny boot flask into his coffee. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the masturbator is easy to spot once you recognize what's going on.
This trend isn't isolated to a few drivers, either, and that makes sense. These habits help us get through that part of the morning. For me, it's coffee, Howard Stern (with some channel changes during commercials), and the occasional cigarette. Mess with any of that, and I'd be upset about it. That time belongs to me. There are very few instances outside of my commute and my bathroom where time belongs to just me. I fill that hour or so with caffiene, nicotine, and raunchy humor. It's perfect.
I imagine most people are like that. They need those familiar, bad habit, routine elements to start their day. It's their reward for getting up. Or, in some cases, it's a way to deal with what they're getting up for. I could empathize with either view.
Does the woman smoking the cigarettes need them to calm herself down before taking a seat at her desk or waltzing into a meeting? Or is she just bored and that gives her something to do? Does the pot cloud or clear the guy's head? Either would immediately reveal how he feels about his job. Same goes for our boozing friend. And for the masturbator (as if we could forget), maybe it reminds her of the night before, or a night she wishes she could have. Or maybe she just wants to do something dirty with her hand before she punches the clock at the local franchise and keeps it stuffed and suffocated in a latex glove while she serves sandwiches and coffee. In the end, though, it's their time to spend without the need for justifications.
I can understand all of those scenarios. I can because we're all basically the same. We all merge into that giant snake every morning and need something--anything--to do with ourselves before we break off, minutes or hours later, to go about our own business. It's a strange portal, the highway. You get so used to it and its ways, its routine, that you need to separate from it with something of your own. You sip coffee and laugh at the radio. You sing as loud as you can and drum on the steering wheel. You blow smoke at it all. You rub one out. Anything to avoid letting the monotony suck you in and strip you of who you are.
The saddest thing you can see on the road at 8:03 in the morning is someone sitting in a silent car doing nothing at all.
