The Great Highway Stage Show (A.K.A. Why We Can’t Stop Staring at People in Cars)

The Great Highway Stage Show (A.K.A. Why We Can’t Stop Staring at People in Cars)

Let’s be honest for a second. There are certain things in life that unite us all: the love of a good snack, the struggle of laundry that never ends, and... the absolute inability to mind our own business when someone in another car is doing something weird.

Tell me I’m wrong.

You’re just out there, cruising down the highway like a normal human being—music up, windows cracked, sipping on your 44-ounce Dr. Pepper (or Pibb, if you’ve got good taste and access to the rare fountain of the gods). You’re enjoying the vibe, the open road, when suddenly... it happens.

You see them.

A car. A person. A scene.

Something questionable is going down in the vehicle next to you. And what do you do? You look. You stare. You lean slightly toward your window like a raccoon peering into a lit kitchen. Because whatever is happening over there just became more interesting than every episode of Netflix combined.

I once saw a woman going full glam while driving. I’m talking foundation, bronzer, lashes, setting spray. She was beating her face to the heavens while navigating a roundabout like it was the Miss America stage. And somehow, she nailed both. I don’t know if she was going to work, a wedding, or just the Walmart with confidence—but I respected the hustle.

And then there was this man, bless him, who had a full rotisserie chicken on his passenger seat. I’m not even making this up. No bag, no plate. Just vibes and poultry. He was digging into it like it owed him money. I made direct eye contact with him at a red light while he ripped off a leg with the determination of a medieval king. He did not blink. I drove away a little changed.

Of course, there’s the high-speed karaoke crowd—those folks who are performing as if Simon Cowell is in the backseat. I once saw a guy fully scream-singing to Celine Dion, red-faced and clutching the steering wheel like it was the final scene of Titanic. He was feeling it. Like, chest heaving, veins popping, emotional arc complete. I didn’t know whether to honk or give him a standing ovation.

And let’s not forget the people who cry in traffic. That one hits close to home. You’ll spot them in their car, tears flowing, singing along to some sad tune like “Fix You” by Coldplay. You want to roll down your window and pass them tissues or a therapy referral. But you don’t. Because you know the moment. You respect the moment. You’ve lived the moment.

Now, one of my personal favorites—The Forgotten Blinker Brigade. These are the drivers who turn on their left blinker sometime during the Bush administration... and never turn it off. They’ve got the blinker blinking like a strobe light at a sad prom, and they just keep going straight. You sit behind them wondering, Are we turning? Is it a metaphor? Is this a life choice or a cry for help? Eventually, you start to cheer them on—You got this, Cheryl! Make that turn! Live your truth! And they never do. They just keep blinking. Forever. It’s oddly poetic.

But let me tell you, as funny and chaotic as all this sounds, we’ve all been that person.

Don’t lie.

You’ve danced to Beyoncé at a stoplight like the world was your stage. You’ve yelled at a podcast like the host could hear you. You’ve dropped a fry between the seats and nearly died trying to fish it out while driving with one knee. And yes—you’ve eaten in the car. You might not be proud of it, but you’ve done it.

I recently found myself attempting to eat a double cheeseburger while also balancing my 44-ounce Dr. Pepper in the cupholder that never actually fits it. The lid popped off mid-sip, and suddenly I was holding a fizzy volcano of regret while mayonnaise slid down my wrist like a slow-moving avalanche. I don’t even remember what lane I was in. I just remember the guy in the car next to me staring like I was the zoo exhibit—and honestly? He wasn’t wrong.

Because that’s what we are. We’re all exhibits in this weird, rolling, unscripted comedy show called Driving in Public. Every car on the road is its own little sitcom, drama, or tragic musical depending on the day. And we, my friends, are the stars.

So the next time someone looks over and catches you mid-bite, mid-song, mid-existential crisis in your car—smile. Nod. Wave. You are part of the greatest, weirdest, most relatable show on Earth.

And to the person who was driving with their blinker on from St. Louis to Kansas City... I hope you made that turn.

Until next time, friends—
Remember to take care of yourself… and be kind to others.
Especially if they’re eating a hamburger with one hand and defending their doctorate with the other.