The person in the tollbooth was tiny, in the way that only little old asian ladies can be tiny. Like a bird. I hand her a five dollar bill.
She reaches out and touches me on the hand. "Hi, honey," she says. Then she takes the money. She turns, does whatever it is that is done to register a transaction in a tollbooth, gets my change and receipt. As she turns back to me, she laughs out loud. Then she shrugs, and says, "If you run out of money, you run out of money."
"But... I didn't run out of money."
"No! Not you! Lady in front of you! She complain and complain! Too many toll! She running out of money!"
There's a certain little-old-asian-lady wisdom that expresses itself in the art of stating what really should have been obvious to anyone applying more than half a brain cell to a problem.
"I tell her, 'You don't want to pay toll, use back roads!'"
"She say, 'But I'm going to New York.' That not my problem! I tell her, 'That not my problem! I don't go New York. Too expensive. You don't want to pay toll, don't drive on toll road.'"
As a postscript, I feel compelled to mention that the while this person tried to talk her way out of paying a $4 toll for the Delaware turnpike by pleading poverty, I was watching a movie on the wide screen TV suspended from the roof of her Lexus SUV.