So I'm trapped on the 405, my window rolled down and the fan spitting out a lukewarm breeze. I'm watching the heat gauge in my car fight against the top of the dial as I slowly inch past one of those car-dealership again. Today their sign says:

TREASURE THIS MOMENT

If I could get over in time -- if I could find four people willing to let me take their oh-so-precious space in a miles-long line -- I swear, quietly and to myself, that I'd exit at the next off-ramp, drive back to the lot and quietly but thoroughly explain to the weasel that programs the sign that there's nothing to treasure in this particular moment. That this particular moment is entirely untreasureable. Then I'd drop him off at the hospital. While driving by.

I take several deep breaths.

As traffic continues to creep along, I can barely make out another sign at another car-dealership ahead. As I get closer, it becomes clearer, but I don't want to believe that it says what I think it says. It can't possibly. No...

The sign says:

B A GLOOMBUSTER SMILE

Now, ignoring for a moment the fact that they spelled "be" as "B" -- which is hard enough to do -- they. Screwed up. THE GRAMMAR. AGAIN!

I start making a slow, crawling growl, deep in my throat.

I am not going to be a gloom-buster smile. I refuse to be a gloom-friggin'-buster smile.

I may, one day when I'm standing over the sticky goo that used to be the man who wrote that sentence, have a gloom-buster smile.

Stupid sign.