Hell I’m guilty of this one.  I’m a sniffler and a picker, not really a nose blower, but it’s still laughable to see the Atlanta folks driving in the morning with their coffee/cellphone in one hand and their other hand busy with a finger jammed up to the bridge of their nose.  

They don’t even bother to hide it; it’s like they take the security of being inside a car for being invisible.  Their windows aren’t even tinted, but they usually don’t look around too much while digging for snot prizes.  When I see someone picking, I always take a really long stare to see if they notice me noticing.  So far I’ve never been caught catching someone, and of course I always get separated from their car in just a few quick seconds.  

There’s different versions of pickers too.  There’s the “I’m just scratching” picker who looks like he’s just trying to scratch something at the base of a nostril, but then you see him grinding his fingers together and you know something’s up.  

The “blow and pick” is probably the grossest because even though they blow their nose first, they stick their finger under the tissue and go dig with that, which makes their boogies visible, even at a distance.  

There’s the standard pick, which is more my style.  Jam my finger up there and work around until I can breathe freely.  I was always griped at when I was a kid for doing this instead of blowing my nose, but honest to science, blowing my nose doesn’t work unless it’s running snot.  If it’s boogers I’m after, they’re stuck up there well enough to where the lung blast of air won’t dislodge them.  Therefore, I go diving.

The “pick and eat” is clearly nasty, something I haven’t done since my single-digit years, and something I haven’t seen since about 7th grade (I believe her name was Jenna Williams, a bookworm and booger hound).

Last is the “rocket shooter,” which could be dangerous to others in the vehicle.  These assholes close one nostril and blow a sickening gust from the other, sending stringy ropes of phlegm, boogers and sometimes blood in whatever direction they’re aiming at.  If you ever see your coworkers come in with dried goo on their pants, you might have a wandering rocket shooter on your hands.  Either that or they recently received a lapdance or a visit from Bill Clinton.

Final warning: if you’re driving a friend’s car and there’s dried grossness on the steering wheel, better bring rubber gloves next time.