I went to fuel up my car the other dayóan event which has never been too much fun, and which has gotten to be quite the pain in the ass lately. Austin drivers always seem like theyíre driving around high on something, and the gas station parking lot is no exception. Since the hurricanes, itís gotten even worse.
Anyways, so Iím pulling into the gas station, dodging maniacs left and right, all these assholes in gigantic pickup trucks, and most of them are pissed off, because another thing that really bothers these people is waiting any amount of time. Itís sort of strange, actually. I mean, I come from a small Texas town, where there wasnít ever really a need to hurry. There wasnít anything to do, anyway, so there wasnít much point in rushing around to do it.
Then I moved to New York City. To put it mildly, people rush there. They rush, they push, they will knock your ass out, if you stand too still for too long. Fast, baby, thatís the pace, and when you get caught up with it, youíre amazed at how fluid it all is.
Thatís the difference in Austin, though, is that everyone is impatient, but when itís their turn to move, they piss off. You have some guy waiting in line heís all looking at his watch impatiently, snorting through his nose because he canít believe that he actually had to wait in line for more than thirty seconds. Then when itís his turn, he canít find his checkbook, he doesnít know where his ID is, heís talking on his cell phone. And you immediately have another asshole just like him waiting next.
Same thing with cars: people revving their engines, inching forward until theyíre about to ram you, and then when the light changes, theyíre digging in the glove compartment. Those people are generally in front of you, though.
But weíre talking about the gas station. All these people are driving super aggressive, what with having to wait; theyíre peeling out, doing that engine rev thing, driving about fifty miles an hour around in circles, just to show everyone that theyíre frustrated. Me, I donít feel the need to show everyone that Iím frustrated.
I keep good music in the car, I keep my air conditioner running, and I enjoy my life. When you get into the gas station parking lot, you really should learn to appreciate life, because every second could be your last. People speeding around gas pumps, smoking, talking on cell phones, checking their makeup, doing everything but watching what theyíre about to crash into.
So I just stopped. Instead of driving through the insanity, I planned on just waiting in line, until the pump in front of me opened up. My princess and I made various comments about drivers that were speeding in and out of the parking lot, most of the comments derogatory. And then I notice the bumper sticker on the SUV that Iím waiting behind.
The SUV itself is a giant thing, shiny silver and gleaming in the setting sun, so it was hard to notice the bumper sticker, at first. The woman standing next to the vehicle looked like a child standing beside a regular sized vehicle, she looks miniature. This SUV wasnít playing aroundóit was damned big and serious. It probably got about a third of a mile per gallon, and Iím sure this lady spent most of her time driving to the gas station and then home and then back to the gas station again, but she wasnít intimidated by anyone. You get behind the wheel of this thing, and 18-wheelers with several trailers attached will veer out of your way. The thing was huge, is what Iím saying.
And then, just there in the corner, is a bumper sticker that reads, ďHow many lives per gallon?Ē
See, itís supposed to be protesting the whole war for oil thing, whatever. But for a bumper sticker like that to be effective, I think that it has to be on VW Bug, or perhaps some sort of electric/gas hybrid. Pretty much anything small and stupid-looking and driven by a hippy.
The only thing that kept me from getting out of my car and slapping this lady until she was lying on the ground, covered in gasoline and tears, begging me to please just stop the hate, was the thought that maybe someone put it on her car as a joke.
And you know what? My aggravation has absolutely nothing to do with the war, it has nothing to do with oilóthat kind of thing, itís not the kind of thing I worry about, if you want to know the truth. You might think that thatís irresponsible and juvenile, and youíre right. But if there are still people who want to start wars, and there are still people that want to fight in them, then good for them. Not my business.
ďBut, Ray, donít you remember 9/11?Ē Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Itís become to politics what the birth of Jesus Christ has become to toy companies. Is this war about 9/11? I donít think so. Like I said, itís not something that I follow too closely, but I donít feel that it is.
I feel that the soldiers are fighting because thatís what soldiers do. If I had my own army, youíre damn straight that I would be sending them off to fight wars. Why? I donít know, but Iím pretty sure I could think of a reason.
I donít mean to make light of the lives lost, and I donít mean to make it sound like itís not important. Iím just explaining that nobody really knows why we fight, and anyone that claims to know is either being mislead or is being misleading Again, thatís just my opinion. But Iím getting a little high up on the soapbox.
I believe I was speaking about the dizzy bitch with the giant SUV and the bumper sticker. What pissed me off so bad was the hypocrisy, the idiocy. Itís like wearing a fur coat and eating a burger while you protest the killing of animals (if youíre serious, I meanóif you do something like that just to start some shit, I totally have your back).
Come on, man. How many lives per gallon? You tell me, dipshitóI drive a Saturn. People this stupid should be welded into their gigantic SUVs and buried alive. Then, in millions of years, weíll have oil again. Stupid bastards.