Skip to main content

You Ain't Goin' Nowhere

                      Image result for gas lines
by Vol-E

I think this week, we'll be partying like it's 1979.

If that reference doesn't ring a bell, it means you're under the age of 40. At that time, some of the middle eastern countries with the most oil to export got into a snit and cut off our supply. Gas was rationed; you could only buy it on days that corresponded to the number on your license plate. People got into fist fights at the pumps (more on that in a sec), and Jimmy Carter started seeing what was left of his presidential career fade with each passing day.

That was when prices went up over one dollar per gallon {gasp!}.

So now we have a ruptured pipeline from Alabama and the entire eastern seaboard will be affected. Here in Tennessee, the pipeline apparently bypasses us, but stations are already out because once people heard the news story, they all rushed out to fill their tanks, so now we have plastic bags over our pumps too!

I filled up Saturday night...wasn't super-low, but I generally take care of this on the weekends. First place I went had little "out" signs on all the pumps. That was scary; I wondered how many places I'd have to visit before I (hopefully) found one that wasn't outa gas. It didn't take long; the panic hadn't started yet. I usually try to be a good citizen and not top off my tank, but I made an exception this time.

So now we try to think ahead...What will the week bring, if the pipeline takes longer to repair than anticipated?

I am fortunate enough to live just two miles from where I work, and so theoretically I can easily walk it. I may start this tomorrow. The road that my job is on is not pedestrian-friendly by any means, but if fewer cars are out and about, it will be less dangerous to cross that intersection. Maybe there will be others out there on foot. We could start a club!

It will also be interesting, in today's super-volatile political climate, to see what the 2016 version of "fist fights at the pump" will look like. Hint: I hope they don't have a shortage of bulletproof vests; we may all need to get one. But then again, there may not be any gas to ration. It may be a moot point.

Good luck, everybody!


Popular posts from this blog

Memoir - The Year of Kent State

by The Urban Blabbermouth
I wanted to write a fictional memoir and it got away from me. 

I was born in the Year of Kent State. I didn't know. I was watching a cable channel specializing in historical programs, in this case, newsworthy events from the 1970s. The Ohio National Guard shot 13 unarmed students protesting the Vietnam War on the Kent State University campus. Four students died. By the time I was aware of a bigger world than my own, Kent State passed into history.

Im gonna git u Sukkah

by The Urban Blabbermouth [who may or may not be shown in the photo above... - v-E] ~ True story. I am walking to my car and I notice a couple of Jewish fellows, twenty somethings, with the bouquets of what looks like bamboo or palm. I know they are Jewish for they look Hasidic. They are wearing long black jackets, wide brim black fedora hats, and have curly sideburns. In truth, I classify all Jewish who dress like this as Hasidic although they may identify themselves differently. They are standing near the corner canvassing passersby.

Climbing to New Heights

by The Urban Blabbermouth
It started when I was ten.  I was riding shotgun with my father when a small plane crossed the highway in front of us.  The plane floated gently to its landing, like it had all the time in the world.  It was beautiful.  I knew then I wanted to be a pilot.  

I dreamed of soaring with the clouds and flying through them.  I could go anywhere the crow flies.  No stuck in traffic following a road as laid out by some anonymous engineer.  I could fly with the birds, although, I never thought myself a bird.  I loved the freedom.

But, I fear heights.  

It's not just any heights, it's low heights, the kind you get with stairs, balconies, bridges, and landing airplanes.  When I fly on airlines as a passenger, I look out the window at thirty thousand feet, no fear.  Somewhere between six feet, my height, and thirty thousand feet, airplane's height, lives my fear, a mysterious feeling that emerges from my stomach and rises up into my chest.  I can't…