June 3, 2008--Snowbirding: Sunpass
"How’s business?”
There were no cars behind us as we glided into the toll plaza so there was no hurry to rush through. The toll collector, a rumpled woman of about 60 tossed us a weary smile and shrugged, looking back over her shoulder to the off ramp as if to confirm that business on the Turnpike was indeed slow.
“It’s the gas,” she said, “No one’s workin’ and with gas more than four dollars a gallon, there’ no one on the road.”
She was clearly eager to talk so I put the car into park so we could settle in for a few minutes to hear what was on her mind. “Look at me. You think I made a career out of this?” Her gesture took in the three-by-four tollbooth. “I worked for a screen company for 27 years. You know down here lots of folks have screened-in patios. It was a good business. Especially after hurricanes. You know, the first thing that goes, even before the roof, is the screens.” She chuckled to herself at that—appreciating how other people’s misfortunes was good for her business.
“But now, and today’s the first day of hurricane season, right, even it we get hit by an Andrew or a Wilber I’ll bet you, since most folks don’t have any hurricane insurance any more, the last thing they’ll fix up will be the screens. So here I am. Sittin’ out here Friday nights and weekends collecting 25 cent tolls. They least they coulda done was give me a booth where you collect half a buck.” Again she laughed mockingly at her reduced circumstances. “But now that no one’s driving anymore, unless they have to, I bet they’ll close down this here booth and let everyone through for nothin’. They’re not takin’ in enough to cover my pay. That would kick things in the head for me.”
I glanced at the rearview mirror and still no one was in line behind me. So I looked back at her. She was wearing the regulation Florida Turnpike shirt festooned with garish-colored palm trees and baskets of citrus fruit. She had a radio with her and it was playing music from the 50s. It was pretty clear from the lines on her face and her cigarette voice that life for her had not been a lot of laughs. No even that many smiles. I could see on her brass nametag that she was Gladys.
“So,” I said, “how’d you find this work? I assume a lot of people these days would be happy to have it.”
She snorted, “I know someone who knows someone. Simple as that. That’s the way things work. I always hated that. Had too much pride to want to ask anyone for anything. Made my own way, thank you very much. Never asked no favors and none were extended. Wasn’t easy, but I raised two kids after that prick ran off. Worked six days a week during the season. When folks had money. And when I hd to waitressesd Saturday nights and Sundays.
“Things coulda been worse though. Both kids are doin’ all right. That Jimmy Junior did do some time. He was into a drug thing for a while. But he’s clean now. So am I. You know I too had my problems. But I haven’t touched a drop for six years, three months, and seven days. But who’s counting. As they say, ‘One day at a time.’ I say, ‘One hour at a time.’
“One thing I know, you never know what’s commin’ next. Nothing good. That much I can tell you. Not for me anyway. For you and your misses,” she leaned down from her swivel-stool so she could look over at Rona, “I’m sure things are different.” But before I could say that our lives too have had their ups and downs, she quickly added, “I know, I know. You at least look old enough,” she winked at the much-younger Rona, “to have had some of your own spills. And don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my good times. That was a while ago I admit but still I did have some fun. If I had the time I could tell you a few things,” that made me wish that the Turnpike Authority had already decided to close the exit so we could hang out with Gladys. “Even with Big Jimmy. Like the time we drove all the way out to Vegas. We had a blast. We did cut up and did some things that I wouldn’t describe in polite company.” This time she rocked back roaring in laughter.
“But that was before his accident which scrambled his brains. I never told the boys about those early days. They wouldn’t believe me. They only knew him after. He beat up on them pretty fierce. He didn’t know what he was doin’, poor bastard, but still the boys never forgave him. Not that I blame them. I never forgave him either. He sent me to the hospital at least half a dozen times. I had to get a restraining order, things got that bad. But I guess lucky for us before he killed all of us he took off with some slut he’d been poppin’ on the side. Someone he met at the AA. Can you believe that? There I thought he was goin’ to his meetin’s religiously to keep straight but all the while he was playin’ hide the salami. But as I said I guess we were lucky he took off.”
“It sounds that way,” I said, realizing how inane I must have seemed; but I didn’t know how else to respond that didn’t sound insincere or patronizing. And back about a quarter of a mile I saw a pair of headlights approaching as a car slowed onto the exit ramp and realized that unless he had a Sunpass that would allow him to zip through those dedicated lanes that did not require drivers to pay cash tolls we would in a moment have to pull away from Gladys.
She noticed too. “I guess I’ll have to get back to work in a minute. But before you go, I want you to know that I do not regret my live or feel sorry for myself or unfairly treated. I made all my own choices and take responsibility for them and my life. I’m proud to say that. I may not have much, but I do have my self-respect. And that’s worth a lot.”
With that she smiled and looked radiant even in the harsh fluorescent light of the booth.
“I agree. You’ve clearly accomplished a lot. I hope your boys appreciate that.” She nodded back at me. “And having self-respect is important and sadly rare these days rare.”
“You got that right.”
The car that had been approaching was behind me now and flashing his high beams to nudge me to move along. I shifted back into drive and crept forward. I was hoping, as we waved and Gladys blew us a kiss, that if we came this way next week we’d still find her there.
As I drove us off, Rona said, “Now aren’t you glad we didn’t get a Sunpass?”
She was right. I was glad.
There were no cars behind us as we glided into the toll plaza so there was no hurry to rush through. The toll collector, a rumpled woman of about 60 tossed us a weary smile and shrugged, looking back over her shoulder to the off ramp as if to confirm that business on the Turnpike was indeed slow.
“It’s the gas,” she said, “No one’s workin’ and with gas more than four dollars a gallon, there’ no one on the road.”
She was clearly eager to talk so I put the car into park so we could settle in for a few minutes to hear what was on her mind. “Look at me. You think I made a career out of this?” Her gesture took in the three-by-four tollbooth. “I worked for a screen company for 27 years. You know down here lots of folks have screened-in patios. It was a good business. Especially after hurricanes. You know, the first thing that goes, even before the roof, is the screens.” She chuckled to herself at that—appreciating how other people’s misfortunes was good for her business.
“But now, and today’s the first day of hurricane season, right, even it we get hit by an Andrew or a Wilber I’ll bet you, since most folks don’t have any hurricane insurance any more, the last thing they’ll fix up will be the screens. So here I am. Sittin’ out here Friday nights and weekends collecting 25 cent tolls. They least they coulda done was give me a booth where you collect half a buck.” Again she laughed mockingly at her reduced circumstances. “But now that no one’s driving anymore, unless they have to, I bet they’ll close down this here booth and let everyone through for nothin’. They’re not takin’ in enough to cover my pay. That would kick things in the head for me.”
I glanced at the rearview mirror and still no one was in line behind me. So I looked back at her. She was wearing the regulation Florida Turnpike shirt festooned with garish-colored palm trees and baskets of citrus fruit. She had a radio with her and it was playing music from the 50s. It was pretty clear from the lines on her face and her cigarette voice that life for her had not been a lot of laughs. No even that many smiles. I could see on her brass nametag that she was Gladys.
“So,” I said, “how’d you find this work? I assume a lot of people these days would be happy to have it.”
She snorted, “I know someone who knows someone. Simple as that. That’s the way things work. I always hated that. Had too much pride to want to ask anyone for anything. Made my own way, thank you very much. Never asked no favors and none were extended. Wasn’t easy, but I raised two kids after that prick ran off. Worked six days a week during the season. When folks had money. And when I hd to waitressesd Saturday nights and Sundays.
“Things coulda been worse though. Both kids are doin’ all right. That Jimmy Junior did do some time. He was into a drug thing for a while. But he’s clean now. So am I. You know I too had my problems. But I haven’t touched a drop for six years, three months, and seven days. But who’s counting. As they say, ‘One day at a time.’ I say, ‘One hour at a time.’
“One thing I know, you never know what’s commin’ next. Nothing good. That much I can tell you. Not for me anyway. For you and your misses,” she leaned down from her swivel-stool so she could look over at Rona, “I’m sure things are different.” But before I could say that our lives too have had their ups and downs, she quickly added, “I know, I know. You at least look old enough,” she winked at the much-younger Rona, “to have had some of your own spills. And don’t get me wrong. I’ve had my good times. That was a while ago I admit but still I did have some fun. If I had the time I could tell you a few things,” that made me wish that the Turnpike Authority had already decided to close the exit so we could hang out with Gladys. “Even with Big Jimmy. Like the time we drove all the way out to Vegas. We had a blast. We did cut up and did some things that I wouldn’t describe in polite company.” This time she rocked back roaring in laughter.
“But that was before his accident which scrambled his brains. I never told the boys about those early days. They wouldn’t believe me. They only knew him after. He beat up on them pretty fierce. He didn’t know what he was doin’, poor bastard, but still the boys never forgave him. Not that I blame them. I never forgave him either. He sent me to the hospital at least half a dozen times. I had to get a restraining order, things got that bad. But I guess lucky for us before he killed all of us he took off with some slut he’d been poppin’ on the side. Someone he met at the AA. Can you believe that? There I thought he was goin’ to his meetin’s religiously to keep straight but all the while he was playin’ hide the salami. But as I said I guess we were lucky he took off.”
“It sounds that way,” I said, realizing how inane I must have seemed; but I didn’t know how else to respond that didn’t sound insincere or patronizing. And back about a quarter of a mile I saw a pair of headlights approaching as a car slowed onto the exit ramp and realized that unless he had a Sunpass that would allow him to zip through those dedicated lanes that did not require drivers to pay cash tolls we would in a moment have to pull away from Gladys.
She noticed too. “I guess I’ll have to get back to work in a minute. But before you go, I want you to know that I do not regret my live or feel sorry for myself or unfairly treated. I made all my own choices and take responsibility for them and my life. I’m proud to say that. I may not have much, but I do have my self-respect. And that’s worth a lot.”
With that she smiled and looked radiant even in the harsh fluorescent light of the booth.
“I agree. You’ve clearly accomplished a lot. I hope your boys appreciate that.” She nodded back at me. “And having self-respect is important and sadly rare these days rare.”
“You got that right.”
The car that had been approaching was behind me now and flashing his high beams to nudge me to move along. I shifted back into drive and crept forward. I was hoping, as we waved and Gladys blew us a kiss, that if we came this way next week we’d still find her there.
As I drove us off, Rona said, “Now aren’t you glad we didn’t get a Sunpass?”
She was right. I was glad.
posted by Steven Zwerling at
12:04 PM
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