Scene Setup: Westbound on the Pike, 2 miles before the Cambridge
Street / Storrow Drive – Allston, Brighton, Cambridge toll plaza.
I’m fairly happy traveling in the far left lane behind the
guy in the Camry. He is driving fast. At
the 2 mile mark before the toll plaza we pass under the first sign: a bright
yellow warning about the toll plaza ahead and Fast Lane customers should stay
to the left. In fact the sign says “Fast Lane” only. This story pre-dates the
conversion to E-Z Pass.
Fast Lane: An interesting naming choice since we are only
allowed to travel at 15 MPH through the “Fast Lane” lane. Of course I disregard
this every day. I can usually get through it between 30 and 40 MPH. That is of
course until I get behind a non-commuter who insists on following the law to
the letter. I usually start screaming at them when I realize our speed has
dropped below 30 and my oh so descriptive words of the slow poke in front of me
get closer and closer to “the line” you are not supposed to cross with each
drop in speed. If he/she gets to 15 the words coming out of my mouth are far too
vulgar to print. But I digress.
One mile before the toll plaza and there is that same bright
yellow sign about the toll plaza coming up and “Fast Lane” only customers
should stay to the left.
One half mile before the toll plaza and … that’s right you
guessed it, that same bright yellow sign about the toll plaza coming up and “Fast
Lane” only customers should stay to the left.
Any idea what is going to happen when the Camry and I get to
the toll plaza?
A quarter mile and the same warning sign. No problem for me.
The speedy Camry and I going to zoom right through it.
Getting closer, almost there and …
ssssssssccreeeeeeeeeeeeecccch and STOPPED.
The Camry has stopped in the toll plaza, directly underneath
the “Fast Lane” sign and I have come to a grinding halt just inches from his
rear bumper. There is no way for me to get around him or backup since the line
of cars behind me is piling up quickly. This is after all a weekday afternoon
at the start of commuting time. If someone sneezes wrong while driving on the
Pike you get backed up for at least 2 miles.
I count to myself: one Mississippi, two Mississippi,
three..oh fuck it. Are you fucking kidding me? Now I am screaming out loud. Did
you not see the signs? They were bright yellow. They had the word “only” on
them. If you didn’t know what “Fast Lane” meant then you shouldn’t have been in
this lane. What the hell are you looking for? Just go. Go forward and pull
over. You are already screwed. My hand gestures and potty mouth went on and on
and on for a full minute of this until something even worse happened.
He got out of his car. He got out and walked around the back
of his car without making any eye contact with me and walked across two more
toll plaza lanes to a person manning a booth. Holy fucking hell it’s a god damn
good thing my car isn’t armed with missiles. As he walks back to his car the
look on my face would kill Medusa herself. Come on jackass just look up at me
once and poof you’re dead meat.
As he squirms his way back into his car, fastens his seat
belt and puts his car in gear the most terrified look falls upon my face. I
just looked up at my windshield and noticed my Fast Lane transponder is not
where it should be. In fact, I know where it is. It is in my coat pocket, which
is hanging over the back of my chair in my office. Oh fuck me.
I pulled up, stopped in the toll plaza and made the walk of
shame with my head held down over to the man in the booth to get a ticket.
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