I was driving my car.

I was driving my car and sitting at a traffic light.

I was driving my car and sitting at a traffic light in Wurend… Wudrunj… [checks Melway] Wurundjeri Way.

I was driving my car and sitting at a traffic light in Wurundjeri Way when I saw a white car stop next to me.

I was driving my car and sitting at a traffic light in Wurundjeri Way when I saw a white car stop next to me and a window opened and a lit cigarette was thrown out.

Man that pisses me off. I mean, every car has a fully functioning ash tray in every door. It’s surely more effort to open the window, chuck it out, close the window than it is to just put it in the ash tray.

So I scrabbled around in the glovebox (which very rarely has gloves in it, by the way) for a piece of paper and a pen to write down the details so I could dob them in so they can have a nice $200 fine for their trouble. Ha. That’ll teach the littering bastards.

When I put the pen away, I noticed this odd headphony hands-free thing for a mobile phone in the glovebox. It’s not mine. I don’t know whose it is. I don’t know how long it’s been there. I’ve been trying to think of who I’ve given a lift to recently and whether they had a phone that looked like it might fit it, and even if they owned such a device, why on earth they’d choose to leave it in my glovebox. I’ve asked around my family, and nobody knows. It doesn’t fit anybody’s phone. Weird.

Was it placed there by aliens? A plant from Nokia to encourage me to upgrade my phone? Mysterious secret agents who borrowed my car when I wasn’t looking and used this device to communicate with other, equally mysterious secret agents to protect some foreign dignitary? Or just a forgetful mechanic who took my car for a test drive perhaps?

If anybody reading recognises it as theirs, or just wants it (the sticker on the back suggests it might fit a Nokia 3310 or 8210 phone), or if you have any wild theories on where the hell it came from, let me know.