Stupid Things Happen To Me All The Time

Stupid Things Happen To Me All The Time
By geo ©2004

Driving up to the toll heading into to the City, not having traveled this way in quite some time, I squinted vainly along the toll structure for any hint of how much the person in the booth expected me to pay them.

Nothing. Not a whimper of a sign or clue or hint anywhere. Muttering under my breath about the stupid waste of time imposed on all drivers unfamiliar with the required passage fee, the incredible stupidity of not investing fifty bucks in a freaking sign that would let every poor schmuck know how much they expected to collect, I fumbled for my wallet to see if I had any singles thinking I would stuff a handful in my fist before I arrived at the toll and would negotiate some payment permitting me to continue on my way.

Somewhere deep in the back of my mind a nasty little voice whispered, “all you have is fifties” and of course all I had was fifties. So I grabbed one, put it on the console next to the cell phone and patiently waited for my turn for the gruesome experience of interacting with a toll person who would have to deal with a driver so stupid as not to know how much the toll cost.

As I pulled up to the toll I took one look at the person in the booth and I knew I was screwed. You see it’s not that I am prejudiced in any way shape or form. I don’t have a prejudicial bone in my body. My problem is that I am cursed with an ability to look into another’s soul simply by glancing at them. It happens in a fraction of a second, so fast that I don’t think even NASA scientists would be able to measure it.

In the booth sat a very large man of color, unclear what ethnicity, could have been African American, Hispanic, Eastern Indian, Polynesian, Mexican, Colombian or some other variation of humanity I may either not have thought of or perhaps never heard of.

The point being, this guy was stuffed into this booth, obviously every day with some huge shoehorn that took at least three men to wield and manage to get him into the booth.

Now, I have compassion for the overweight. In fact if I was this guy’s supervisor never in a million years would I ask him to get into that toll booth. It is clearly inhuman and cruel punishment to expect this poor soul to exist in that seemingly tiny structure all day dealing with people and their money. Not to mention the expectations of New York State to receive its full toll from every vehicle that passed his way.

In that unmeasurable fraction of a second when I first glanced at him I knew, now you must get this right, I didn’t guess, I knew that he was pissed, surly, annoyed, angry, upset and surrounded by a general feeling of dislike the source of which he simply did not know. All he knew is that he had to pretend to be a sardine all day and collect money from idiots like me who did not know how much it cost to pay the toll.

I rolled down the window all the way as I pulled up and asked him “How much?” He just looked at me with an expression so dark that I almost rolled my window back up again. When he finally spoke he said “$1.75” I immediately handed him my fifty dollar bill which he took without looking at it at first. When his huge arm finally made its way back into the booth and he looked at the bill an immediate look of disgust came upon him and he said “Do you have anything smaller? Now that would normally be an innocent question, however, his tone, his aura, his smell and his annoyance all came together in an explosion of communication that left me temporarily speechless. “Well, do you have anything smaller” came the bellowing voice of this huge pissed off individual.

Of course I was forced to say no. This did not go over well at all. The huge man in the toll booth commenced to count out my change. One quarter and forty eight singles. Not only was he focused on torturing me with a huge pile of sweaty smelly singles, but this guy made sure that he was going to count correctly so he proceeded to count them out loud, one at a time.

By the time he reached twenty nine people behind me were honking their horns with impatience. Obviously I was taking much too much time in the toll booth. The people behind me were clearly of the opinion that I had no money and that the huge man was filling out some form so I could make good on my responsibility to pay a toll and send in the money at some future time. Glancing in my rearview mirror I saw this generally nice looking middle aged couple in a black BMW with an expression of disgust and distaste right there on their faces.

Finally, the huge angry man reached out of his tight booth and handed me the quarter and the singles. Now I was pissed. Pissed that there was no sign approaching the toll telling people how much they had to pay, pissed that some twisted middle management type would actually have this oversized individual stuffed into a toll booth, pissed that all I had on me was fifties plus a bunch of other annoyed emotions which I could not really make out but now had me in their control.

“May I have a receipt please?” I heard myself saying the words but could not believe that they actually came out of my mouth. Was I insane? The look on the giant man’s face indicated that he was probably reaching down for a gun and was going to blow my head off right there in the toll booth.

I could not help it. I was going to contribute my small share of idiocy to this extremely moronic situation. It was as if I was infected with some pernicious disease of the mind that forced me into this behavior.

Finally, I left the toll booth, calmed myself down by staring at the Hudson River heading toward midtown, and told myself in the most quiet voice “Stupid Things Happen To Me All The Time”