Wednesday, March 07, 2007
It Takes a Toll
One of the really awesome things about constantly traveling for work is that you get to enjoy America's toll roads. For anyone who firmly believes that a trip to Iowa is worth six dollars in coins, this is great news. Also for people who enjoy surly or comatose government employees. Just as an example, last week I was driving through the blinding snow along I-88, as I like to do occasionally, when I encountered a toll plaza. Curbing my natural instincts to crash through the motorized gate and do donuts across all six lanes of traffic, I slowed down and prepared to fork over an amusing assemblage of nickels and dimes. As I did so, however, I accidentally bumped my front wheel against the curb, causing a little bit of a crunching noise.
"Jesus Christ, you scared the crap out of me!" screamed the female linebacker manning the toll booth.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said.
"I thought you might be a terrorist, coming to take me out."
Though it seemed unlikely to me that toll plazas would be at the top of any self-respecting extremist's list, I decided not to turn this into the McLaughlin group and just handed over my change.
"Yup, I just hit the curb there. Sorry."
"I mean, who are you, Alladin Abu al Jafaar?" she queried. "Seriously, you got to be careful."
"Right," I said, just counting the minutes until I was freed from my mechanized prison.
"Wait a minute," came the reply. "I think you gave me ten cents too much. Hold on a sec."
"Really, it's fine," I said. "It doesn't matter to me."
"Well, lah dee dah, mister millionaire. You just go right on ahead then."
Which I did. But I will never forget my friends back at the DeKalb toll plaza.
One of the really awesome things about constantly traveling for work is that you get to enjoy America's toll roads. For anyone who firmly believes that a trip to Iowa is worth six dollars in coins, this is great news. Also for people who enjoy surly or comatose government employees. Just as an example, last week I was driving through the blinding snow along I-88, as I like to do occasionally, when I encountered a toll plaza. Curbing my natural instincts to crash through the motorized gate and do donuts across all six lanes of traffic, I slowed down and prepared to fork over an amusing assemblage of nickels and dimes. As I did so, however, I accidentally bumped my front wheel against the curb, causing a little bit of a crunching noise.
"Jesus Christ, you scared the crap out of me!" screamed the female linebacker manning the toll booth.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said.
"I thought you might be a terrorist, coming to take me out."
Though it seemed unlikely to me that toll plazas would be at the top of any self-respecting extremist's list, I decided not to turn this into the McLaughlin group and just handed over my change.
"Yup, I just hit the curb there. Sorry."
"I mean, who are you, Alladin Abu al Jafaar?" she queried. "Seriously, you got to be careful."
"Right," I said, just counting the minutes until I was freed from my mechanized prison.
"Wait a minute," came the reply. "I think you gave me ten cents too much. Hold on a sec."
"Really, it's fine," I said. "It doesn't matter to me."
"Well, lah dee dah, mister millionaire. You just go right on ahead then."
Which I did. But I will never forget my friends back at the DeKalb toll plaza.
