Open Letter to the Tollbooth Guy at the YMCA Parking Lot

You are fucking me bigtime. What's more, I KNOW you are fucking me bigtime. This is starting to become a serious problem. At first when you overcharged me, I figured it was an honest mistake. No big deal. Not the kind of thing worth getting riled up about. However, this has now happened several times.

Tollbooth Guy, you charge me $4 when I know I owe you $2. You sit there and smile at me like a 3 year old child who insists they didn't eat the last cookie but was too busy revelling in their presumed victory to wipe the goddammed chocolate off their face. What was it that made me a target for your economic scheme? My impeccable dress, often consisting of clothing made by fine designers like John Deere? My flashy car, which has two broken mirrors, smells like burning and dust, and has enough of my shit in the back that I could camp out for a week in it if I ever got stranded on the highway? Perhaps my mannerisms, which have often caused me to be confused with New England socialites, or employees of Bass Pro Shop.

Tollbooth guy, you are not my intellectual superior. The fact that I haven't busted you and unleashed a verbal barrage of my utter disdain for your bullshit shenanigans is the fact that there are 10 people behind me that you are also preparing to give a human booster shot to on their way out the door. If I don't pay you, I hold them up. You are in a position of adhesion; a retarded chimp without the slightest ability to form a single thought could also overcharge me for my parking with the same efficiency, albeit in a far more interesting way.

Why can't you be more like tollbooth ladies? The tollbooth ladies are always nice, and I go out of my way to be nice to them. We exchange small talk about vacations and school, and one of them even went out of her way to tell me how to avoid the rush at Thunder Over Louisville! I used to make a point to try to talk to you. I would try old timeless classics like, "Good Morning!" and "How are you today, friend?" You response would always be to stare back through your glasses, with cold and vacant eyes, revealing a life of wasted opportunity, countless hours pursuing meaningless temporary pleasures and self-hatred. And then you charge me four goddammed dollars.

The times they are a changing, tollbooth guy. All things must end. This too, must end. There will come a day where you charge me $4, and I break up into that tollbooth like Shaft and free the beast all over you. All the fuck over you. People will be leaping out of there cars cheering, as I wail on you with great vengeance and furious anger. I will rejoice in your defeat, and the city of Louisville will thank me. Thats right tollbooth guy.....Keep doing it.....Just 4 or 5 hundred more times....