A tow-truck driver’s kid goes to college.

You wouldn’t believe how much work I did this week. I’m like that song where the lady says “work” over and over, except instead of being in the club and the waiting room at the tire store and my neighbor’s yard, I’m at home, doing work. Last night, though, I slipped away from my desk to do stand-up comedy at the Union club.¹ There someone claimed that a study found the drivers of Missoula, Montana to be the worst in America. “Aha!” I said, suddenly feeling less crazy. I had assumed that I convinced myself Missoula drivers were unsusually bad through cognitive errors and my own unpleasant character. Here was the possibility of concrete evidence. It turns out that Montana, not Missoula, has the worst drivers in America, according to what was surely a rigorous study conducted by a car insurance company. But Montanans agree that Missoula drivers are the worst in the state—as a corollary to their axiom that Missoula is the worst generally—so it follows. It’s been a great week for vindication.

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