Driving from the parking lot of my apartment building to the nearest main road requires taking a narrow side street that is always lined with parked cars.

The result is that only one car can pass at a time. And, of course, there's always a car coming the opposite direction when I'm on my way to work in the morning.

No big deal; I just pull off behind one of the parked cars and let the other guy pass. It never adds more than 15 seconds to my commute.

Those small stakes notwithstanding, I always feel really good about myself when I pull over to let someone pass.

"You are the most generous person in the world," I say to myself. "Look at how you've selflessly ceded the right-of-way to a total stranger. If only the girls you had crushes on back in high school could have seen that! You deserve to have ice cream when you get home tonight."

As great as that self-satisfied feeling is, though, it's not the best part. The best part is the thank-you wave the other driver gives me. It's like an acknowledgment of my basic goodness. And, as someone whose faith in his own basic goodness can get a bit fragile sometimes, your Indoorsman appreciates this to a great degree.

That's why I take it as such a personal affront when I pull over and don't get that thank-you wave. It's just so insulting. I mean, there I am, having just finished my congratulatory inner monologue and feeling pretty darn good about myself, and this idiot driving his jerk car looks right at me and keeps on going along his stupid way.

The same scenario always plays out in my mind: I turn my car around and start heading back to confront the guy. (On the way, I stop and let several buses of needy children pass. They all give me thank-you waves.) Then I get to the alley and pull up next to the guy who wave-snubbed me.

"Hey, buddy! How about a thank-you wave?" I say.

"A what?" he asks.

"Don't play dumb with me; it's the wave you give someone for pulling over to let you pass," I say.

"I'm sorry, my good man. Certainly I was grateful for your generosity; I just didn't know about that custom. I'm from Brussels, Belgium," he says.

"I know where Brussels is," I say.

"Well, we don't do thank-you waves there," he says.

(Note: This seems dubious. But, because I lack any knowledge of Belgian customs, my imaginary version of myself cannot call his bluff on this.)

"OK, then," I say. "But why would my imagination create a confrontation that ends with an amicable understanding?"

"Because you're the most generous person in the world," he says.

"I surely am," I say. "I think I'll have some ice cream."

"And I'll have waffles," he says, waving as we both drive off.

-- The Indoorsman