Saturday, August 23, 2003
YES, WE HAVE NO GAS
Well it’s been another week in Lake Gas-Be-Gone, Phoenix, Arizona, my hometown. The gas crisis in Arizona and then the little power problem back East someplace the week before made me feel a sense of the Iraquinizing of America, sort of the Clintonian “I feel your pain”. Imagine living without reliable power and having to put up with long lines at the gas pump. That’s downright un-American, and there’s probably no web surfing either.
The governor here in Arizona took a lot of hits on talk radio and in some of the respectable media for suggesting that all of us, including conservatives, should . . . well . . . conserve. The idea! Don’t we all deserve to get as much gas at $1.50 a gallon as our SUV saddle tanks would hold?
It’s a crisis like this that brings us all closer together as a community. Well, not actually as a community, but it brings us closer together in proximity of a gas pump—parked behind the Suburban lady who has to go into the store, prepay for gas, pump 2.6 gallons of gas, go back to store, get a Diet Coke (like THAT’s gonna work), get in the car, adjust the rear view mirror, get out of the car, pick up the receipt at the pump she forgot, get back in the car, fumble with the seat belt, and drive off to the applause of those of us in our little community of fuels in waiting.
Well it’s been another week in Lake Gas-Be-Gone, Phoenix, Arizona, my hometown. The gas crisis in Arizona and then the little power problem back East someplace the week before made me feel a sense of the Iraquinizing of America, sort of the Clintonian “I feel your pain”. Imagine living without reliable power and having to put up with long lines at the gas pump. That’s downright un-American, and there’s probably no web surfing either.
The governor here in Arizona took a lot of hits on talk radio and in some of the respectable media for suggesting that all of us, including conservatives, should . . . well . . . conserve. The idea! Don’t we all deserve to get as much gas at $1.50 a gallon as our SUV saddle tanks would hold?
It’s a crisis like this that brings us all closer together as a community. Well, not actually as a community, but it brings us closer together in proximity of a gas pump—parked behind the Suburban lady who has to go into the store, prepay for gas, pump 2.6 gallons of gas, go back to store, get a Diet Coke (like THAT’s gonna work), get in the car, adjust the rear view mirror, get out of the car, pick up the receipt at the pump she forgot, get back in the car, fumble with the seat belt, and drive off to the applause of those of us in our little community of fuels in waiting.
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