dear john

Dear Toll Guy Who Takes My Dollar Every Morning in Asbury Park,

I realized this morning that you recognize me.

I thought our brief, but cordial exchanges were fairly standard in the toll-taking world. There’s the “Good morning,” the “Thanks for costing me that bag of Cheetos that – had I not just given you one of my last dollar bills - I would have purchased from the vending machine when the 3 p.m. munchies strike,” and of course the parting “Have a nice day.”

I drive a nondescript car, sip coffee from a nondescript thermos, listen to nondescript radio programs (other than the Mexican-Polka of course), and am generally, nondescript. You probably see hundreds of me a week, maybe even in a day; so how could it be that you recognize me specifically? Why is it that your “How are you this morning” emphasizes the you in just a way that it seems you really know me? Do you gaze longingly at my strange still-out-of-state plates and slightly dented bumper long after I’ve been digitally thanked for forking up and pull away from your lane? Are you eyeing up the junk in my trunk?

Alas, Toll Guy, it will never work out for us in this crazy, crazy world. I…I have Super Yummy Boyfriend…and you…well, you’d never understand my fear of small spaces and anxiety over making change under pressure. Clearly, I’ve let this go on for too long. It’s time for me to be moving on. It may hurt for a while…when I speed past through the EZPass lanes; but this is our future, Toll Guy, we’re both just going to have to accept it.

I'm sorry if I've misled you. I only meant to pay my way.

I’ll keep the shiny dollar coin you gave me (cuz the vending machine won't take it). And we’ll always have that day when the backup made me linger.

Sincerely,

me