Needless to say, I rushed out to the scene as soon as I heard the news.
Tanker truck down!On the west side!
Gasoline spilling!
And me on empty.
Drastic times call for drastic measures. Used to be, you got word about an oil truck tipping over and you'd shrug and hope the driver was OK. That would be it.
Not anymore.
Yesterday, on the way to work, when the radio newsman reported there was an Amoco tanker on its side at 5600 West and 3100 South, my first thought: Free gas!
My only fear: Did I have enough gas to get there?
The low fuel light was on.
But it's been on low for about a month now.
I chanced it. I made straight for the west side, thinking siphon tactics all the way there.
I passed a Chevron selling gas for $1.59, unleaded, a 7-Eleven selling mid-grade for $1.63, a Maverik selling super unleaded for $1.79.
I can remember when I could fill my whole tank for that price. It was last year sometime.
Now you need a co-signer for anything over eight gallons. Now, when you see people getting towed, it's because they prefer it. It's cheaper.
What's it going to be, send your kid to Harvard or fill up the Tahoe?
People are getting to the point that they're buying new cars just for the gas.
Conversation between new car salesman and customer:
Salesman: We'll throw in a CD player, heated seats, titanium wheels, and Morgan Freeman to drive you to the store.
Customer: Add a full tank of gas and you've got a deal.
Salesman: Half-a-tank.
In Europe, they say we're spoiled.
Over there, they sell gas by the thimble. Over there, gas is a luxury. Prices are ridiculous.
It's lucky they pay in francs, deutsche marks, lira and pounds, because if they knew what it costs in dollars, they would not stand for it. They would riot in the streets.
But Europe is so small, they don't need much gas. Shaquille O'Neal could straddle the entire continent.
In America, we get up in the morning, stretch and decide where we're going to drive today. The Grand Canyon or Miami Beach?
Take away our cars, take away our pulse.
So, yes, this gas-nearing-the-two-dollar-barrier is a crisis.
It is tearing directly at our loner, independent, don't-fence-me-in, one-car-one-vote, I'll-vote-for-McCain-if-I-want-to nature.
As I neared the scene of the tanker spill, I could see I was too late.
Seven hundred gallons had gone over the side -- but it had not spilled into a cement pond or a low point in the road where myself and other opportunists could scoop it up.
It had spilled into a plowed field. In seconds, they told me, it had seeped into the dirt, disappearing faster than a quarter-tank in a Land Cruiser.
Already, the gas was on its way back from whence it came -- back to its roots in the Pleistocene Age, when it started out as a lump of coal.
The cycle of life.
I turned away. Distraught. The low fuel light was still on. And the office wasn't exactly right next door.
I turned the key. The car started. I smiled and headed for that Maverik. I would bite the bullet and fill up, but I decided this time I would pay in francs.
Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.