Welcome home

So I went home for the holidays yesterday. Flew. Had a connecting flight in D.C. - Ronald Reagan International Airport (ugh...).

Anyway my Dad picked me up at LaGuardia, the airport in N.Y. We're driving home in some pretty heavy traffic. I don't need to remind you it's two days before Christmas.

So we're in the right lane somewhere in N.Y., trying to make our way to the left lane. Next to us, to our left, is a big, ugly dump truck of some sort. It's trying to make its way to the right lane. So my Dad speeds up a bit, and moves to the left, allowing the truck to move to the right behind him. Seemed legit, if a tad bit aggressive. Happens all the time, right?

Well I'm in the front passenger seat of the sedan. I turn and look at the dump truck. I barely catch a glimpse of the driver; he looked like you would suspect a N.Y. dump truck driver to look like. Rugged. Ugly. Anyway I look up, we make brief eye contact. And he spits.

Like, right at me. The wind carries it backward, and it lands on the back passenger side window. One big loogie and a few streaks of mucus just plastered there on the window.

As N.Y. Post columnist Cindi Adams would say: Only in New York, kids, Only in New York.

My Dad didn't even notice, so I pointed it out to him. The rest of the ride home, he'd let everyone cut in front of him.

"Don't want to get spit on again," he'd say.

I kind of wanted to fight that truck driver, like maybe one punch with a roll of quarters, or something even more vicious. But in the end, I had to laugh. What a welcome home!

Now it's like 5 a.m. and I'm up for no conceivable reason. And it's snowing.

Happppppy holidays.