Toll Collectors

There have been several stories in the news lately about harassment or otherwise hostile actions exemplified by toll collectors to various drivers. You know, unwanted sexual advancements, verbal abuse, and even offers to "step out of the car and fight." Some observers and readers probably call this insanity; I call it the inevitable result of being caged up in a tall box for eight hours with a stool and money they don't even own, day after day. Keep me in there long enough with no professional end in sight, and I'd probably do the same thing, only with my face painted and no clothes.

I mean, where's the humanity in that job? Paycheck aside, that job's about a slow water-dripping faucet away from classified torture.

What exactly is the career outlook for toll collectors? Grim, I suppose. But what's the end game there -- what's the incentive for doing well versus simply handing 50 cents change with a middle finger back to each driver? I would surmise there's about as much opportunity to move up in that occupation as there's opportunity to move around in that toll booth.

Put it this way, if you're a toll collector who calls in sick, you're simply replaced by a metal basket and a different neon light indicating exact change only. Your backup is a two-inanimate-object combo. If that's not salt in the open wound of a dead-end job, I don't know what is. And now you have a couple EZ-Pass lanes breathing down your neck, just itching to take your toll bridge lane. No pressure.

Not that I'm saying your life sucks if you're a toll collector. I'm just empathizing with your depressive situation. Heck, it's a paying job and you've got to make ends meet -- you've got yourself, maybe a family, and definitely a tragically indebted government to support -- so, hey, take what's available. But I empathize with you. Truly. If you're a toll collector and you never smile, or you hate people, or you hate yourself, or you've lost your identity, or you don't bathe, or you spend half your day mentally weighing crimes you could get away with, or your favorite part of the day is reading "Ziggy" and doing the Jumble at lunch, I'm not condoning your feelings or actions, but I certainly don't blame you.

I guess what I'm saying is, just don't kill me, please.