You’ve probably bumped into people in the grocery store, or Home Depot, or McDonald’s and thought they looked familiar, but you just couldn’t place them. Probably, you first saw them at McDonald’s and then when you bumped into them in the produce aisle, they reminded you of someone you saw at Home Depot. You’ll probably never have the answer to that conundrum.

But, I’ve noticed that the same thing happens on the roads. Yesterday on my way home from work, this zippy little black BMW Z4 whipped by me, and I recognized it as the same one I’d seen on previous trips. It’s hard to miss, because it’s a very nice looking car. I call this car’s driver, “Robin.” A step or two down from the Z4 is the black Pontiac Solstice with the license plate “SISTA,” that I see about once a week. I call her “Daphne.” There’s the red Tesla that I’ve seen several times in the past few months. I’ve not given him a name. There’s the older model Buick with a missing headlight that’s been replaced with packing tape. And of course there’s the dark red Silverado that’s tastefully lifted and has a cool custom steel bumper on the front. The strange thing about him is, I often see him at exactly the same spot on the road a few times a week. I do call him “Jethro.”

I’ve never met these people, of course. It just gives me something to do on my 30-mile ride each way. And now, I will blow. . . your. . . mind! On at least five occasions, I have had twilight zone-type encounters with other vehicles. The first time this happened was on my way to work, and I was behind an Aaron’s concrete pumping truck with the bucket’s swinging from the rear bumper and covered in concrete dust. The weird thing is, when I was driving home that night, the very same truck pulled in front of me as he merged off of I-70. Bull crap, you say. But, it was the same truck. My wife didn’t believe me either.

But then there was a white BMW with a license plate that had four nines on it. I tend to notice these things. As a side note, and NOBODY will believe this one. . . I was sitting in the drive thru at Chick-Fil-A (Okay, everyone will believe that), and I just happened to notice that the license plate on the truck in front of me had the same five numbers (No, seriously!) as my odometer reading, in the same order. And then he pulled away. I tried so hard to get a picture, but I couldn’t catch up. But. . . absolutely true.

But back to the BMW, same deal. . . on the way home from work, there he is. I’ve noticed this a couple more times, and my wife thinks I’m crazy. But then, it happened. We were on our way to my parents’ house in Pennsylvania, and we took the winding road through Butler, Maryland, which is very scenic, but you can sometimes get behind someone who may not be in as much of a hurry as you are. Such was the case on this day. . .

We were behind a pickup truck hauling a couple of ATVs on a trailer, and we were poking along Route 128, so we had ample time to notice things like the stickers on the back window of the truck. I don’t remember the sticker, but it was something funny, and my wife even pointed it out to me. We followed the truck for several miles, and then we parted company and we were on our way to Pennsylvania.

We spent several hours at my parents’ place, and then we retraced our route back down I-83 and through Butler. As we emerged from the cool expanding steel bridge from WWII that spans the river on Western Run Road, I put my right turn signal on, waiting to make my move. I pulled in behind a truck pulling a trailer with two ATVs in the back. “Holy crap!” I said, because that’s what you say at times like this. “That’s the same truck!”

“No way,” my wife says. “You’re crazy.” Because that’s what she says to me a lot.

So I did what any man would do in a situation like this. I floored it. I mean come on, I was in a Kia, and I was trying to catch an F-250 with big tires, owned by an outdoorsman. But, I caught him. I got way too close. I had to. Mary needed to see that sticker! Oh God, I hope that sticker is in that window. I’m sure this is the same truck. Oh please, please. . . YES! She saw it. I was right. Don’t shake your head! It happens!

It’s been a while since this has happened, so I’m due for another encounter. For the time being, I’ll just keep waving at the cars my Kia has made friends with. I saw the Z4 last night, Jethro this morning, I saw Daphne earlier in the week. I haven’t seen the old Buick with the tape headlight for a while. I hope he’s okay. Maybe he got a new car, and I just haven’t figured out which one is him yet. But I will.

I was watching a car show the other day—as I’ve been known to do—and there was a guy who bought one of the original Bandit Trans Ams, which was in terrible condition when he bought it. Now beautifully restored, he was asked about who had done the work, and the owner said he’d done just about everything himself including painting the car black, which for those of you who don’t know, is by far the hardest color to get right. The slightest ding, dent, or wave will show in the highly reflective finish. Did he have previous body or paint experience? Heck no. He said he just did a lot of research and watched a lot of YouTube videos. I dig that!

So, I watch a lot of YouTube videos too, like those on rebuilding brakes, replacing shocks, recovering sofas, disassembling a washing machine, lawn maintenance, small engine repair, making custom car door panels, and how to do body work and paint. Those last two, I have not tried. . . but I just might. Anyway, after seeing this guy on TV, it dawned on me that I may already be an expert at many things. I mean, I can follow what’s going on, I can identify problems that affect the performance, I can comment on how to make it better, and most importantly, nobody has been around to check me on my observations and opinions. Here are some things that I am clearly an expert at, but you probably don’t know that, because I’ve never practiced them in public.

Structural Engineering—I’ve completely renovated four houses to include some foundation work, masonry, plumbing, electrical, framing, drywall, and finishing. But that’s nothing. Shows like This Old House and Holmes on Homes have taught me how to frame a new addition, replace a roof, install heating and air conditioning systems, and operate a crane. I’m also familiar enough with Canadian building codes to throw the red flag if I see something going wrong on TV, because many of the home improvement shows are filmed there. If you need me to slap a new garage or a couple of bedrooms on your vacation cottage in Toronto, just give me a call. I’ve never done this stuff, but I’m an expert nonetheless, eh?

Cooking—It’s just a matter of time before the networks contact me to film the pilot for a new series. We watch all the popular shows, like Hell’s Kitchen, Masterchef, Masterchef Junior, Top Chef, America’s Next Food Network Star, and Chopped. I can easily spot when someone’s knife skills aren’t up to par, or when they’ve taken the chicken out of the pressure cooker too soon, or when they don’t have a proper sear on the steak, or when they’ve put the meat in the pan before the oil was heated. I mean really, who does that? And don’t even get me started on people who would use sauce out of a jar in a cooking competition.

Singing—I yell at the TV enough that these contestants ought to realize that I know what I’m talking about. He’s off pitch. She doesn’t have the range for that song. His arrangement of that song is terrible, and it’s definitely the wrong song for him anyway. Now, I know that I know what I’m talking about, because my words have been verified by the likes of Simon Cowell, Blake Shelton, Randy Jackson, and Alicia Keys. We’ve never actually spoken, but I’m sure they’d all verify my bona fides.

American Ninja Warrior—I know you’ll be surprised by this, but despite the fact that I have expert knowledge of the proper form to successfully navigate the ANW course, and that I am an amazing specimen of physical fitness, I have never actually done the ANW course. It’s true! But, while watching it on TV, I can easily spot when someone doesn’t have the proper grasp on the Rolling Barrel. I’ll call you out if you haven’t set the proper pace when going into the Floating Tiles. Once I’ve seen that you’ve lost that 90-degree bend at your elbows, I will confidently estimate when you will fall from the Monkey Pegs. And of course, if your steps are off, you’re never going to get enough speed to launch yourself to the top of the Warped Wall. I haven’t yet demonstrated my own prowess at navigating the course, but maybe one of these days.

Dancing—This one has taken a lot of time to develop, but I’m there now. When those amateurs perform on Dancing With the Stars, I will often point out those whose moves are not crisp enough, who are sliding their feet, not pointing their toes, not keeping their heads high, or who haven’t reached the full extension of their arms. Heck, I’m such an expert, I can even advise the judges on what score to give each contestant. Bruno and Julianne usually listen to me, and score appropriately. Len, however, likes to think he knows more than me, and usually scores the contestants lower. He’s so harsh.

The point of all this is not to brag. Uh. . . mmm-hmm. But, I think there is some level of confidence you can get from these shows and videos. In construction, I might encounter something new, and I’ll recall something from one of those shows and think, “Those guys used a laminated beam and some Narndle bolts in the same situation,” and then I’ll head off to the Depot for Narndle bolts. When it’s on me for dinner, I will sometimes try something I’ve seen on TV. I will even go to the store for ingredients. Specific ingredients! I’ll recall how the TV chefs did their thing, and try to emulate it.

For singing and dancing, you should be thankful that I’ll leave that to the actual experts. Oh, I might break into a goofy dance during the Big Bang Theory opening music, but that’s a different story. As for the American Ninja Warrior course, I’m pretty sure that I’d be wet after the first couple of those angled steps. If I managed to get past those, I’m sure I’d slide down the rope trying to swing onto the platform and smash my face against the edge, and then I’d be in the water. I could also be the first warrior to fall from the Salmon Ladder without ever moving it from the first notch.

Taking all these skills above into account, it’s hard for me to demonstrate my expertise by actually doing this stuff. But, from my couch, I’m killing it.

Sometimes, it’s okay to go outside the lines. Not if you’re coloring. Oh God, no! Neatness counts, so I’ve never been able to intentionally go outside the lines, even when I was a kid, and back then, we had to color in black and white! But lately, I’ve seen a lot of lines, and I’ve been amazed by our difficulty in forming them.

In the photo, you can see me and my family in line at Disney World. The make it easy. There are railings, chains, curbs, walls, and shrubbery all arranged to point us in the right direction and make us turn where they need us to turn. Sort of like cattle, right? But without the directional aids, humans can’t figure this out.

I’ve witnessed poor line building many times, and it always amazes me. Find any cash register and put a long line of customers in front of it. Guaranteed, there will be one, straight line, that will stretch back to the first immovable object, where it will terminate with a wad of people standing in a clump waiting to get behind the last person. The line will block sidewalks and hallways, it might cross rivers or shallow canyons, and if a door is involved, might reach into the parking lot and across the road where it will block traffic. But it will never, of its own free will, make a 90-degree turn.

You think I’m kidding? You will see this now that I’ve pointed it out for your benefit. I’ve seen it at Wal-Mart when trying to maneuver my cart through the front of the store and trying to squeeze through the line. In Safeway, people look at you like you’re crazy for trying to get through. “Can’t you see there’s a line here?” In Chick-Fil-A, before they put up those Tensa-Barriers (sort of like line-directing seat belts on chrome poles), the line stretched from the register, across the open area, and down the aisle toward the door on the opposite end of the restaurant. One more customer, and they’d have been outside.

Recently, at our Disney World hotel, we had to wait in a fairly long line to get the bus to the House of Mouse, and the line inevitably stretched past the railings into no-man’s land, where the humans did the only thing that seemed safe–they formed a straight line. It reached across the expanse of sidewalk, blocking not only the doors to the hotel, but also the rest of the sidewalk. Potential line fodder actually walked along the curbing that lined the garden in order to squeeze past the line, which of course, did not move to allow them to pass, for fear that they might introduce an unwelcome bend in their beautifully straight line.

The most recent sighting was today at the Farmers’ Market at work, where the most popular (and apparently those with the slowest service) food trucks had lines stretching across the road, blocking the sidewalk, and ending in a blob of humanity at the fence with several potential customers wondering how to get into the line. Some of them left in search of a food truck with a shorter line. Others, just trying to use the sidewalk to get to work, were unable to cross the line, and were forced instead to buy cupcakes from the cupcake truck. Chaos, I tell you.

So, please people… it’s okay to turn.

It might be difficult to see what this is, but I’ll save you from the suspense–It’s replacement razor heads for my electric shaver. What you probably don’t know is that there are three replacement heads in the small blue box, each about the size of a quarter and about twice as thick. I had imagined that I would find a padded envelope in my mailbox one afternoon, and I’d be excited to receive my stupid-expensive replacement heads inside with a note that said they were “Lovingly packed by Gladys.”

I was very excited when I saw a large box on my front step, because for a minute, I thought my wife bought me something cool like a new Dewalt Miter Saw, or a collection of books, or maybe some new chrome parts for my Fairlane that I still hope will have license plates again some day. Then, I saw the label. Oh. It’s from… what? They’ve shipped the wrong stuff. Probably.

Shock One: They shipped that little blue box to me in that ginormous box. The loaded box was actually lighter than the empty box, because they filled it with bags of air. Not just any air, but the special kind of air used to keep UPS trucks filled to capacity. So if you were the UPS guy, wouldn’t you be a little bit ticked that you had to lug around these giant boxes surrounding something the size of three quarters? I could have bought 200 sets of replacement razor heads (except that would have cost me $5,000), and they could have shipped them all in the same box.

But Shock Two: Come on, Philips Norelco… If you’re going to ship the heads with ten backs of self-contained protective wind, at least get the dumb things into the middle of the box.