Some drivers are more entertaining and have more on-road personality than their cars…’s feisty femme, Jasmine, recently discovered a cabin rock star at a suburban intersection.

It must have happened to you before – Saturday morning on your way to gym. You pull up at an intersection, and while waiting for the lights to change you hear this strange sound coming from your left. You turn to see someone just stopping alongside you, windows open and belting out the words to their favourite track on "Sokkie Treffers 81".

At this time, I usually think "yummy" and make myself more comfortable, resisting the temptation to lean out of my window and ask the refuse bag/clothing peg/sun visor salesman to hook me up with a medium popcorn and coke – no ice – for the show.

Yesterday, as I was painting my nails (I'm sure some cat could deliver her entire litter in the time it took those lights to change), this chick drew even with me at the lights, positively feasting on The Darkness' "I believe in a thing called love".

Of course, her tinny voice was no match for the in-car entertainment provided in the tinnier Ford Laser Tracer, as she tackled the song with gusto to spare while the entire world (and its pets) were given front row seats via her open window. And while I'm not really partial to that bunch of Brit pansies, her performance, accompanied by a set of speakers dating from before the Great War was... different.

The way in which she let it rip, her eyes shut while strumming her air guitar, more than drowned out even the best efforts of her stellar music system.

Being at a busy intersection on an otherwise dull afternoon (I was painting my own nails, it was good), the Laser chick was a great source of entertainment to those who had been watching the red lights with whitening knuckles, waiting to be untethered at the "go" signal.

Instead, the captive audience ended up in stitches of suppressed giggles and polite smiles before an unplanned hooter symphony got everyone moving along again. I really hate that song, but hearing that vocally challenged female attempt to pull off Justin Dawson's constipated wailings and trilling falsettos was reason enough to smile.

The next time Sunny (my car) and I find ourselves in a situation like that, I think I may pull on my singing cap – slightly more talented, I'd like to think – and belt out a few tunes of my own. Instead of joining the expressionless masses intent only on getting the brats to school on time and being five minutes late for work after a mad dash, I'll skip to Keane's "This is the last time" and entertain myself instead.

And my body-bopping, head-swirling, steering wheel-thumping antics will be conducted behind closed windows, thanks. I don't think the world is entirely ready for my talented performances yet...

Catch you on the freeway, Jasmine

Original article from Car