I've edited and rewritten parts of this, trying to make it better. The original is beneath if you are interested. New audio as well.
For audio click here
Close your eyes and imagine someone working on Christmas Day, what do you see? A doctor? A nurse? A care home assistant? Probably someone doing a worthwhile job; a job that’s worth giving up being at home with your family on that special day. I bet you didn’t think of a tollbooth operator did you? Especially one on a windswept minor junction.
So last Christmas while you were all tucking into your Christmas dinners, I was shivering, freezing my arse off. Sitting in a grimy box, waiting for one or two cars to come my way, while listening to shitty Christmas radio.
Most people think you get double time for working Christmas Day, but you don’t. Most people think it’s a choice, it isn’t. You get told you’re working, and if you don’t like it, well there are plenty of other people looking for a job.
No one likes a tollbooth guy; we’re the traffic wardens of the motorway. We’re not to blame for the charges and the fines, but we’re the ones in the firing line. Most of the time I don’t mind being everyone’s cartoon baddie; it’s okay for 364 days of the year. But you’d think that on Christmas Day people might forgive us our sins; a cheery merry Christmas as they pay their toll wouldn’t go a miss. But most of them make some sarcastic comment about letting them off for Christmas - thinking they are the first to make that ‘joke’. It’s no wonder I snapped.
It was a wet Christmas rather than a white Christmas. I saw the car coming through the rain; only the second of the day. It was a silver BMW; nice wheels, dickhead driver. His name was John, but it doesn’t really matter now does it. What a prick, stank of booze, shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. He handed over his note without even saying hello and then, when I dropped his change, he exploded,
“You fucking clumsy fuck. You’ve got one fucking job you cretin and you can’t even do that right. It’s no wonder you’re stuck out here on Christmas Day. Your family have probably fucking disowned you.”
I finally got his change into his hand and mumbled my apology. He put the car into gear and revved the engine waiting for me to lift the barrier.
“Come on you fucking idiot, some of us have got families to visit,” he drummed his steering wheel. I guessed there might have been some other substances as well as alcohol in his bloodstream, I was not wrong.
“Merry Christmas to you,” I said smiling at him, “drive carefully now.” I pressed the button.
When you work on the side exits of a toll road you have plenty of time on your hands. It's time you can spend playing with the barrier, finding out how it works, up and down, down and up.
John released the brake and sped off. I pressed the button again.
Click – the barrier halted, but John didn’t.
I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice to say it wasn’t pretty. Those barriers are far more hefty than they look, and I’d timed the second click at exactly head height. My only regret was that he died instantly.
I called the police. They asked me lots of questions of course. I told them the truth. He paid and sped off too quickly before the barrier had chance to lift. When I told them I thought he might have been drinking they were no longer interested in me.
I’ve just left the inquest. The coroner heard my solemn evidence and recorded a verdict of accidental death caused by dangerous driving due to alcohol and drugs. Turns out he was 5 times over the legal limit and had more coke in his blood than Nigella. Since that day, I’ve been off work with post-traumatic stress disorder; that’s full pay and a chance of compensation. So thanks John, one less drink driving prick in the world and I have an extended holiday counting my money.
So last Christmas while you were all tucking into your Christmas dinners, I was shivering, freezing my arse off. Sitting in a grimy box, waiting for one or two cars to come my way, while listening to shitty Christmas radio.
Most people think you get double time for working Christmas Day, but you don’t. Most people think it’s a choice, it isn’t. You get told you’re working, and if you don’t like it, well there are plenty of other people looking for a job.
No one likes a tollbooth guy; we’re the traffic wardens of the motorway. We’re not to blame for the charges and the fines, but we’re the ones in the firing line. Most of the time I don’t mind being everyone’s cartoon baddie; it’s okay for 364 days of the year. But you’d think that on Christmas Day people might forgive us our sins; a cheery merry Christmas as they pay their toll wouldn’t go a miss. But most of them make some sarcastic comment about letting them off for Christmas - thinking they are the first to make that ‘joke’. It’s no wonder I snapped.
It was a wet Christmas rather than a white Christmas. I saw the car coming through the rain; only the second of the day. It was a silver BMW; nice wheels, dickhead driver. His name was John, but it doesn’t really matter now does it. What a prick, stank of booze, shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. He handed over his note without even saying hello and then, when I dropped his change, he exploded,
“You fucking clumsy fuck. You’ve got one fucking job you cretin and you can’t even do that right. It’s no wonder you’re stuck out here on Christmas Day. Your family have probably fucking disowned you.”
I finally got his change into his hand and mumbled my apology. He put the car into gear and revved the engine waiting for me to lift the barrier.
“Come on you fucking idiot, some of us have got families to visit,” he drummed his steering wheel. I guessed there might have been some other substances as well as alcohol in his bloodstream, I was not wrong.
“Merry Christmas to you,” I said smiling at him, “drive carefully now.” I pressed the button.
When you work on the side exits of a toll road you have plenty of time on your hands. It's time you can spend playing with the barrier, finding out how it works, up and down, down and up.
John released the brake and sped off. I pressed the button again.
Click – the barrier halted, but John didn’t.
I’ll spare you the gory details, but suffice to say it wasn’t pretty. Those barriers are far more hefty than they look, and I’d timed the second click at exactly head height. My only regret was that he died instantly.
I called the police. They asked me lots of questions of course. I told them the truth. He paid and sped off too quickly before the barrier had chance to lift. When I told them I thought he might have been drinking they were no longer interested in me.
I’ve just left the inquest. The coroner heard my solemn evidence and recorded a verdict of accidental death caused by dangerous driving due to alcohol and drugs. Turns out he was 5 times over the legal limit and had more coke in his blood than Nigella. Since that day, I’ve been off work with post-traumatic stress disorder; that’s full pay and a chance of compensation. So thanks John, one less drink driving prick in the world and I have an extended holiday counting my money.
The original
Close your eyes and imagine someone working on Christmas day, what do you see? A doctor? A nurse, a care home assistant, someone doing a worthwhile job, a job worth giving up being at home with your family on that special day. I bet you didn’t see a tollbooth operator in your mind’s eye, did you? Especially one on a windswept minor junction.
So while you were all tucking into your Christmas dinners I was
shivering, freezing my arse off in a grimy box waiting for one or two cars to
come my way.
Most people think you get double time for working Christmas day but you
don’t. Most people think it’s a choice, it isn’t. You get told you’re working
and if you don’t like it well there are plenty of other people looking for a
job.
No one likes a tollbooth guy, we’re like traffic wardens, we’re not to
blame for the charges and the fines but we’re the ones in the firing line.
That’s okay for 364 days of the year but you’d think that on Christmas Day
people might forgive us our sins; a cheery merry Christmas as they pay their
toll wouldn’t go a miss. But most of them make some sarcastic comment about
letting them off for Christmas - thinking they are the first to make that
‘joke’. It’s no wonder I snapped.
It was a wet Christmas rather than a white Christmas. I saw the car
coming through the rain; only the second of the day. His name was John but it
doesn’t really matter now does it. What a prick, stank of booze, shouldn’t have
been driving in the first place. He handed over his note with out a by or leave
and then when I dropped his change he exploded in a sea of vitriol. You’d think
I’d called his mother a whore the way he swore at me. As I finally got his
change into his hand he asked me as a parting shot if I was some kind of cretin,
telling me I had one job and I couldn’t even do that properly.
When you work on the side exits of a toll road you have plenty of time on
your hands. Time you can spend playing with the barrier, finding out how it
works, up and down, down and up. Therefore I knew only too well that if you hit
the button twice the barrier gets stuck.
Click - John revved up and sped off. Click – the barrier halted but John
didn’t.
I’ll spare you the gory details but suffice to say it wasn’t pretty.
I called the police. They asked me lots of questions of course. I told
them the truth, he paid, and sped off too quickly before the barrier had chance
to lift. When I told them I thought he might have been drinking they were no
longer interested in me.
I’ve just left the inquest. The coroner heard my solemn evidence and
recorded a verdict of accidental death caused by dangerous driving due to
alcohol intake. Turns out he was 5 times over the legal limit. Since that day I’ve been off work with
post-traumatic stress disorder; full pay and a chance of compensation. So
thanks John, one less drink driving prick in the world and I have an extended
holiday counting my money.
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