That'll be three seventy-five, ma'am.
I would button my uniform all the way to the top and wear a size that fit properly, but not so properly that the material didn't strain a tiny bit over my ample bosom, tantalizing the randy men that passed through my toll booth lane.
Actually, sir, Brandt's Glenn is the third exit on up, about 65 miles.
People would feel a certain way after our toll booth interaction. The burden of the toll would somehow be lessened. People would see my Thermos of homemade coffee and wax nostalgic, thinking of fathers, heavy work shoes and brown-bag lunches. They might even note my name patch and say, "Thanks, Erin," as I smiled and dropped a quarter onto their open palm.
Have a safe trip.
Thusly the scale tips, good pilgrims; and somewhere a fist unclenches. Lips close to stifle an unkind word. Eyes squeeze tears of joy. The sun doth rise in the East and set in the West.
The other cheek turns.
* * *