The Booth

The Booth

Marvin sat in the booth staring at nothing. Thinking was a luxury for which he had too little or too much time. He couldn’t stop feeling the need to produce in a job that required nothing except the right change.. He was not sure why he felt this way. Expectation was an old foe. He had struggled against it since he had taken this job. But it was a losing battle, the expectation was built into him since childhood.

While sitting quietly between cars an unsought thought came to him. Maybe my life is just an atom in that undigested bit of mustard that Scrooge thought created Marley's ghost in Dickens' tale of redemption. After all, every large thing is made up of small things - at least then there would be some kind of purpose and connection to life.

Was this a western or eastern thought or maybe there was no directionality to it? He knew that his thoughts great or small would be unprompted by any kind of logic while he was in the toll booth. That thing , was a place like Dr, Who’s Tardis, seemingly outside of the time-space of the people passing by it.

He had tried many strategies to make ‘the Job’ less of a mental strain but nothing changed the seemingly endless boredom and the intense spasms of hyperactivity with chronically angry commuters. The boredom lured his mind into a dreamlike state and then the fares hit the fan. Mistakes making change were unthinkable but over the years his fingers grew independent tiny change-making brains that automatically gave back the correct money.

He found himself making up stories about the fares in the cars and trucks, although e-z pass had cut down on his ability to do that. He loved it when the fare didn’t have the correct change or asked directions. It gave him more time to flesh out his characters If it was during a slow period he could get really soapy.

Through the open window, while money was being thrust at him, he saw the faces, and grabbed bits of the music and conversations in the cars. Most of the time, it was too quick an encounter to have much substance but sometimes he felt real drama happening at the length of his arm.

There were arguments, tears, laughter and even stony silence in that passing window. He wondered what would happen ‘down the road’ to these people.

Where was that old couple going ? - More importantly. why were they going? How long had they been together? Were there health problems?

His mind raced, but the interaction was always too quick for a satisfying story to emerge. The next car’s story bled into the one before it. He often tried to make a story out of several cars but it was all too fast. He was tempted to be slower in making change just to have a few more seconds to make sense of it all.


Then one day, he knew. He was God in that booth. He took the tolls but he Himself sent the people in those cars on their way with his guidance. In the split-second interactions, he judged the people and delivered justice and meaning into their lives as they drove away.

He smiled benignly at ‘his people’, knowing they were better off because of his divine intervention. He was still smiling and blessing everyone when the EMT’s took him away.