a dummy spit to remember

Spain is a maze of toll roads, each charging odd amounts and offering a dizzying array of payment options. To simplify the payment process, we had been taking turns to pay for all the bikes at once. When it came to Gary's turn just outside Tarifa, we all moved past the boom gate in an orderly manner - until it was Gary's bike. The boom gate stubbornly refused to move for him, and a lengthy tailback of impatient vehicles began to form behind him. Gary tried coins, notes, visa and swearing; all to no effect. As his temper mounted, the stress became evident in his voice over the intercom. Ty, James and I took this as an implied invitation to offer helpful advice and tip him completely over the edge. As Gary approached meltdown, Ty suggested that Gary move the microphone away from his face so that he could spit the dummy better. That did it, and a complete emotional breakdown ensued.