But I digress. Rado’s been all over me not only for two “lates” but also for a series of driving violations. This guy in a red BMW convertible, some kind of olive-skinned camel jockey, pulled in front of me on Lake Shore Drive the other day and when I caught up with him, I took my hands off the wheel and you know, I don’t like being crude or anything, but I double-flipped him off. Bingo, a motorcycle cop pulls me over and starts writing me up for reckless driving. Real calm, I said, “Officer, I want you to understand that the man in that red BMW almost caused a five-car collision. He is the true psycho and a menace of the roadway. A road-rage classic, an angry and bitter maniac!”

“Is that right?” the trooper says, a big wiseass.

“Yes,” I said. “You know, last night in bed I was reading Cicero where this guy comes along and says, ‘And yet, Prometheus, I think you know that reason may be doctor to your wrath.’ And Prometheus says, ‘Yes, if it chooses well the time for treatment and does not probe the wound that is inflamed.’ Perhaps you take my meaning, Officer.”

He did, called me a regular philosopher. He put away his ticket pad as I informed him that I was a commercial driver with a priority order of radioactive material for a VIP cancer patient. “As we sit here and banter a sick man lies on the table, dying.” The officer looked in the back seat and saw the radioactive cautionary signs on the lead box and said, “Mr. Marzuki, say no more. I’m human and capable of mistakes like any man.” He handed me back my license and took off on his motorcycle. I was greatly relieved because another violation and my license would be suspended. Five miles north I saw him writing a ticket to the shitheel in the BMW. I honked as I passed and the police officer gave me the thumbs-up signal and flashed a big smile. Little good it did. I was twenty-eight minutes late and placed on probation by the chief pharmacist at Rado. “Fuck up one more time, Marzuki, and your lazy ass is on the street,” he says.