If someone stuck a gun in your face and asked for your wallet, how would you respond? What if someone greeted you in a dark alley with his pants down and a knife in his hand? Would you offer to pay for the Vaseline? Would you leave the man a business card, and tell him to drop by with his friends anytime and that your backside is always open for business? That you enjoy getting screwed and you're truly honored that he would choose you, of all people? Would you say thank you?
Then for God's sake, don't say "thank you" to a toll booth clerk.
Let's look at the services provided by the almighty toll booth clerk. A narrow barricade, in the form of a mechanically operated bar, is raised and lowered with all the effort of flipping a light switch. What is the result of this arduous task? Enabling you to proceed along a road you've just been driving on.
No, you're not transported to the other side of a fiery abyss. No, you're not sheltered from a pack of wild dogs as you traverse the treacherous plains. In fact, the only thing disrupting your peaceful journey is a thin metal bar which exists for the sole purpose of being lifted by a toll booth clerk. In other words: you pay money for the service of having it taken from you. Ever heard of a protection racket? How about a transportation racket?
The obvious defense of toll booth clerks - that they raise money for the upkeep of the roads - holds as much water as an Iraqi midget's bladder in the Persian Gulf War. I once read in a New Jersey newspaper that of the $4.00 collected per car at the George Washington Bridge toll plaza, a full 25 cents went towards the actual upkeep of the bridge. Let me spell it out for you: T-A-X.
The Beastie Boys didn't use the word "tax" as a slang term for "fuck" for nothing.
