I pointed out that this is probably karma.
"WHAT!?!" Mr. Out said, outraged. "How--! Why--! I don't--!"
"From what you've said about your driving," I said.
"I never--! What!!"
"You know, the cellphone thing", I smirked, gesturing.
"And you were all 'I'm on the PHONE!' ", our supervisor chimed in, shaking an imaginary cellphone at other drivers.
"How did you hear about that!!" Mr. Out demanded.
"You told us," about four of us chorus. "Over breakfast the other week."
At this point, Mr. Out attempted to justify his driving. This was not particularly successful. He kept using worse and worse examples, including the number of times he has been pulled over on suspicion of drunk driving, which has always been cellphone-related, sleep-related, and/or steering-with-his-knees related. After about the third iteration, I started to mime tossing dirt out of a pit with a shovel. One of the new ladyfolk, the one who was actually something like awake, started dying laughing even before that.
My decision to not drive with Mr. Out stands.