After nine hours of driving, I finally hit the outermost limits of Urb and found myself in a swarm of glaring red and white lights -- five lanes going and five coming, all at 70 mph with the usual lane mavericks cruising for death and destruction.
Another white-knuckle forty five minutes and I was a prime candidate for road-rage. I turned into the final stretch of I-80 South and moved into the right lane. A white tour bus muscled its way in front of me as I tried to run it off the road muttering expletives.
At last, I turned onto the vast Bay Bridge toll plaza. Fortunately, it was not clogged with cars; in fact, the traffic was sparse. I was now anxious minutes away from my destination. Heading into the shortest line at the toll booths, I pulled up behind a white Jetta.
In the lane to my left, one car went through. Then another. And another. And the truck I had avoided. And another. And I lost it.
I started screaming and yelling. “You fucking idiot! Goddamn it. What’s taking so goddamn long? Hurry-up! Hurry-up! Hurry-up! You pathetic moron...dickhead...” And that was the better half of it.
FINALLY, the white Jetta pulled out and I pulled in. Catching a glimpse of the toll taker, I muttered a sarcastic expletive. In my best controlled voice, I handed her a twenty dollar bill and said, “Receipt please”. She handed me back my bill.
It’s already been paid for by the person ahead of you.
The toll-taker broke into a big smile.
Yeah... we heard you screaming an’ yellin. She said to wish you a Merry Christmas.
And a Merry Christmas to you too White Jetta, and to all outraged gentlemen, glad tidings of comfort and joy!