Fool Service

This southern city has two indoor ice rinks, but this post is not about ice rinks. Maybe some other day I'll write about the absurdity of a building full of cold, or maybe that's plenty said already.

This post is about how I was driving 1 and 2 and a friend of 1 to the ice rink on the north side of town when I rashly decided to try to find my way to the ice rink on the south side of town.

I had never been to this rink before, but I could see from the address written on a coupon (burning a hole in my supremely middle-class Entertainment Book) that it was sort of close to something I might know the location of. Goaded on by protestations from the back seat--changed plans grate horribly on the nerves of my children--I pulled a u-turn and made a right onto a road that at least initially went in the direction I wanted.

After about 5 minutes, I lost my nerve and, seeing a highway number for something going north, I yanked the wheel right and sped up the ramp, hoping--trusting!--that I would soon see another sign telling me what road I was on. (Roads might be numbered, but everyone here calls them by their local names.)

Instead, I came upon a toll-booth and in the approach I realized that I had less than 50 cents in the entire car. What am I going to do? The girls are dithering in the back. What does anyone do? Will the attendant make me call home and have someone deliver 50 cents to me? Is there some sort of secret driveway that they'll let me slip down as long as I promise to return whence I came and never do this again? Do they take credit cards?

The hundredths of a mile are ticking by, the tollbooths are looming, I'm fumbling in my purse. I have 1 quarter and five pennies and my mind is counting off the words I should use as I pull up to the last slot on the right.

I began my apology and sensed right away that the attendant was fed up: "How much do you have," without even rolling her eyes, which might have been taken as a sign of commiseration. 1 called from the back, "Look on the ground!" and I made a show of peering over the edge of the door.

"There's nothing out there." She took my 30 cents without taking her eyes from mine. With some tollbooth-attendant sleight-of-hand magic, she pulled something from her back pocket, strained out the pennies and tossed two quarters into the basket. I knew it was two quarters because the only moment her eyes left mine to put the pennies in her till, I glanced over at the display as the coins tumbled in.

"Thank you," I said. Maybe I wasn't grateful enough--I admit the thought crossed my mind that the second quarter was a misguided one she herself had picked off the ground earlier--but I was truly relieved. She continued staring at me, never smiling, just a little flick of scorn? anger? at the side of her mouth. I drove away.