Distaste for the Illogical

So my job search is finally over, and I’m pleasantly surprised at the timing of a good shot of nepotism. Before I was hired at a Japanese restaurant a block away from my house, I was still going through many interviews and meet & greets, each more tacky and cliche-ridden than the last. My most recent one was something slightly different though, but left me pondering the way my surprisingly odd day turned out.

After my successful interview at a Boston-based marketing firm, I started thinking that our current economic situation may not have really been that bad. I assumed that there were still a few industries out there chugging right along, and used that optimism to heighten my spirits as I hopped in my car to go home.

Then, I got onto the MassPike. I thought about how Governor Deval Patrick earlier in the week had proposed a whole bucket full of funding cuts in order to face the challenge of the economy. He had talked about severly cutting the funding for the Massachusetts Turnpike Authority, and folding it into an efficient, neat little package. I didn’t know what this meant, but I was just about to find out.

Having taken a ticket previously from the exit next to where I wanted to get off, I was poised to spend a mere 25 cents for an hour long journey. I handed the man my ticket, and opened my ashtray in order to make the meager toll. Then, the man stopped me cold with the remark I feared would come.

“This ain’t the right ticket. You got another one in there, don’t you?”

I paused. I certainly wasn’t going to be able to fool the man who looks at these tickets hundreds of times a day. “Yeah, I grabbed the wrong one,” I muttered.

“That will be $1.10,” he said.

Clearly not having that much coin in my ashtray, I proceeded to dump the whole thing out onto my lap.

“You don’t have it, do you?” he asked. “Lemme have your license.”

I knew I could provide the toll in copper. At least I hoped I could. All I knew was that I didn’t want to give him my lisence, yet I reluctantly handed it over. “I’m sorry, but these are hard times,” I said.

After I dumped all the pennies onto my crotch, I realized I might be able to foot the bill. I told the toll man that I might have the money right there with me, to which he replied,

“That ain’t no dollar ten.”

I started counting anyway, much to the chagrin of the old woman behind me at the booth. I handed the man a pile of change. “What’s that I got there?” I asked desperately.

“You got a dollar and…five cents. You got a nickel in there?” He asked.

I felt my pulse racing, sensing a future confrontation with the transportation authority, possibly worth much more than a dollar and ten cents. “Sorry man, a nickel ain’t gonna happen.”

“Now, I know you didn’t come from the exit right before this one,” he began.

“Like I said, times are hard,” I interjected, hoping for a far-fetched dose of clemency.

“But I’ma give you your lisence back. Go on, get outta here. We’re straight,” he finished, waving me off.

I gave thanks to the turnpike gods, gracious for another stroke of luck right there in my automobile. The old 1995 Toyota Corolla itself had seen a good deal of lucky breaks in its day, and this was yet another proverbial notch on the dash.

Then, I returned to my original train of thought; I knew the economy must be in real trouble if I was about to get into a rabble over a coveted nickel on the turnpike. I wasn’t trying to stiff the guy, but I did indeed give him literally every last penny I had. The MassPike and I apparently share the same dilemma.

But now I have a job, and I hope that times won’t revert me to this kind of humility again. We’ll see just what happens. Either way, I can’t really get any deeper than the bottom, and am only now starting to slowly climb my way back up. Let’s hope our country is on the same path.

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