Chutzpah

After getting caught in a three hour traffic jam in the Bronx on my Monday night commute home, I have been taking less direct but ultimately less crowded routes home this week. I'm so accustomed to my usual route that I could drive it half asleep or blind--I simply steer Angus in a southerly direction and he gets me back to Manhattan. The problem with the alternative routes is that I actually have to concentrate to achieve the same end. Such bother.

On one of these alternative routes home this week, I came upon the entry of a toll plaza between the Bronx and Manhattan. I was on the phone with the Queen Bea so it's safe to say I wasn't paying such close attention to the toll lane I found myself in. I have an EZ-Pass device secured to my front windshield which usually allows me breezy access through all toll plazas in a multiple state arena and most toll lanes take EZ-Pass. Unfortunately, this was not the case of the lane I had rolled into in my distracted state.

The toll taker leaned out of his window and said, "That'll be $2.75."

"Oh no," I said in a good natured tone, "you see, I have EZ-Pass." I gestured at the device on my windshield.

"You're not in an EZ-Pass lane. That'll be $2.75," he replied.

I was not getting the concept. "Yes, but I have EZ-Pass. I shouldn't pay cash for the toll."

"Lady," he said without any expression, "you are in a cash lane. You can't back up and go through the EZ-Pass lane now or you'll get a fine. That will be $2.75."

I was befuddled and I couldn't let it go. "But all lanes take cash and EZ-Pass. Don't you have a wand or something to deduct the toll from my EZ-Pass?"

He stared at me, still utterly expressionless. The cars lined up behind me began to start honking.

He finally said, "That'll be $2.75."

I relented and reached for my purse. I had no bills in my wallet. I dumped out the change. I was $1.25 short. I rummaged through my glove compartment and found the balance in quarters, dimes and nickles. The honking behind me escalated.

I finally paid him and the barrier lifted. I was sorry to stall the traffic behind me (God knows I curse those idiotic people who back me up in similar cases) but for the life of me, I couldn't get the concept.

When I relayed the story to a colleague at work the next day, they said, "Boy, you have some nerve trying that." Really? It seemed perfectly logical to me at the time.