5/19/2010, 1:57 pm
There's nothing like the lusty month of May for raising awareness. May Day. Cinco de Mayo. Cinco de Cuatro. It's a beautiful month when we all say, “Hey, what the hell, we're progs—let's protest and bare our boobs and break windows and go looting and chain ourselves to something.” Pretty cool no matter what your issue, platform, or grievance, but I repeat myself.
Of course, the cognitive disarray of May and the reality in this country sometimes bites you on the butt and shakes you by the back of your already drooping, relaxed fit shorts. This precise thing happened to me today, while I was out raising awareness of the need for more social justice.
Here I was riding in my air conditioned pink limo, sipping my White Russian mocha latte and reading about Prince William's love life in People magazine. I happened to glance up and see a convenience store/gas station at the side of the busy thoroughfare, and I called out to my chauffeur.
“Pedro! Today is Wednesday, that means it's Lotto Night. Pull into this Race-Trac and buy me some lottery tickets. Use your EBT card and I'll sign the paperwork to get you another one after I win.”
As always, Pedro did as he was told, pulling into the Race-Trac and—because my limo is so big and pink and I like to be in the shade—he parked it next to a whole row of gas pumps beneath a canopy. He left the engine running so I might continue to enjoy the air conditioning as well as the accompanying guilt about what it was doing to the planet's fragile CO2 choked atmosphere.
That's when I noticed a dowdy, desperate looking middle-aged woman standing right next to my car with an empty gas can.
I could see at once that she wasn't just some skank who was homeless and panhandling. I rarely see that anyway whenever I deign to step out of my parents' $400,000 McMansion. (There used to be another zero on that amount until the Republicans screwed up Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac by giving tax breaks to their predatory lender friends.) She looked as if she might be in her late 40's to mid 50's, black knit pants, long sleeved print shirt. She could've been a social worker, or maybe a state employee.
She tapped on my window and I lowered it, thinking she meant to let me know that my fluffy Blinky the Cat in the back window was still winking, but instead she held up a gas can and said, “My car ran out of gas just down the road from here and I don't have any money. Could you spare a little something to help me out?”
Yes, comrades, her car sputtered and died just down the road from here because it ran out of gas. Bone dry. And the poor dear didn't have her purse or debit card to buy more. What a rotten day she was having. But if not for that empty gas can she so fortuitously had handy, her day could have been much, much worse.
I sat there staring at her, feeling like complete doo-doo because I simply didn't know what to do in this situation. Maybe I could've told her to collect $8,000 and move to Europe, convert it to euros, and buy herself a Eurailpass that gives her unlimited free travel. Maybe I could've given her the website number of a public resource or agency that might have helped her with her dilemma. But to my dismay, I realized I must've left my iProg in one of my other purses, and since it was hot outside due to Global Warming, and a lot of that hot air was wafting into my limo, I had no choice but to close the window before I perspired so much that my makeup started to run.
It seemed like an eternity before Pedro came out with my lotto tickets, giving me plenty of time to watch as the woman shuffled dejectedly from one gas pump to another, asking each customer in turn to share his or her better fortune which was only the right and correct thing to do. I thought about what could have led her to such a pathetic pass.
Comrades, when this sort of thing goes on these days, we must admit to ourselves that the Cash for Clunkers program should've been extended indefinitely, for clearly this woman, surely through no fault of her own, was unable to take advantage of the program and get herself a car with a working gas gauge and a little warning light that lights up and chimes to let you know you'd better get thee anon to a gas station.
We must also admit to ourselves that because Big Oil makes billions in profit, that it should share those profits with the rest of us by allowing people like this woman free gas when she needs it. They can afford it, the rest of us can't!
We also need to face the irrefutable fact that private transportation, instead of making the masses independent, has only enslaved them to Corporate America, and that true freedom can only attained with more funds for public transit. Oh sure, it's nice to have your own car and be able to go wherever you want whenever you want, but at what price? Like crack dealers, they tempt you with these shiny pretty objects they call cars, and once you get one, they have you hooked and before you know it you're coming back to them for more.
More gas. More brake fluid. More anti-freeze. New tires. Fancy hubcaps. Mud flaps with naked women on them. Cars, cars everywhere, polluting the environment, and let's not forget the road rage!
We live in a sick society that puts crack dealers, when caught, in jail. I never hear about crack dealers making obscene profits, do you? I never hear about them destroying the planet, do you? And I sure as heck never hear about them taking advantage of unfair tax loopholes and bribing others to promote their evil agenda so they can reap even more profits at the expense of millions of innocent lives. Do you? So why are we jailing them and not the oil executives and automobile manufacturers?
By the way, if anyone out there knows that woman with the gas can, perhaps there is something we can do collectively to help her. Maybe we can wear ribbons and wristbands, or vandalize a few gas stations and torch some SUVs. What better way to raise awareness of how much we care during this most Progressive of months?
Of course, the cognitive disarray of May and the reality in this country sometimes bites you on the butt and shakes you by the back of your already drooping, relaxed fit shorts. This precise thing happened to me today, while I was out raising awareness of the need for more social justice.
Here I was riding in my air conditioned pink limo, sipping my White Russian mocha latte and reading about Prince William's love life in People magazine. I happened to glance up and see a convenience store/gas station at the side of the busy thoroughfare, and I called out to my chauffeur.
“Pedro! Today is Wednesday, that means it's Lotto Night. Pull into this Race-Trac and buy me some lottery tickets. Use your EBT card and I'll sign the paperwork to get you another one after I win.”
As always, Pedro did as he was told, pulling into the Race-Trac and—because my limo is so big and pink and I like to be in the shade—he parked it next to a whole row of gas pumps beneath a canopy. He left the engine running so I might continue to enjoy the air conditioning as well as the accompanying guilt about what it was doing to the planet's fragile CO2 choked atmosphere.
That's when I noticed a dowdy, desperate looking middle-aged woman standing right next to my car with an empty gas can.
I could see at once that she wasn't just some skank who was homeless and panhandling. I rarely see that anyway whenever I deign to step out of my parents' $400,000 McMansion. (There used to be another zero on that amount until the Republicans screwed up Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac by giving tax breaks to their predatory lender friends.) She looked as if she might be in her late 40's to mid 50's, black knit pants, long sleeved print shirt. She could've been a social worker, or maybe a state employee.
She tapped on my window and I lowered it, thinking she meant to let me know that my fluffy Blinky the Cat in the back window was still winking, but instead she held up a gas can and said, “My car ran out of gas just down the road from here and I don't have any money. Could you spare a little something to help me out?”
Yes, comrades, her car sputtered and died just down the road from here because it ran out of gas. Bone dry. And the poor dear didn't have her purse or debit card to buy more. What a rotten day she was having. But if not for that empty gas can she so fortuitously had handy, her day could have been much, much worse.
I sat there staring at her, feeling like complete doo-doo because I simply didn't know what to do in this situation. Maybe I could've told her to collect $8,000 and move to Europe, convert it to euros, and buy herself a Eurailpass that gives her unlimited free travel. Maybe I could've given her the website number of a public resource or agency that might have helped her with her dilemma. But to my dismay, I realized I must've left my iProg in one of my other purses, and since it was hot outside due to Global Warming, and a lot of that hot air was wafting into my limo, I had no choice but to close the window before I perspired so much that my makeup started to run.
It seemed like an eternity before Pedro came out with my lotto tickets, giving me plenty of time to watch as the woman shuffled dejectedly from one gas pump to another, asking each customer in turn to share his or her better fortune which was only the right and correct thing to do. I thought about what could have led her to such a pathetic pass.
Comrades, when this sort of thing goes on these days, we must admit to ourselves that the Cash for Clunkers program should've been extended indefinitely, for clearly this woman, surely through no fault of her own, was unable to take advantage of the program and get herself a car with a working gas gauge and a little warning light that lights up and chimes to let you know you'd better get thee anon to a gas station.
We must also admit to ourselves that because Big Oil makes billions in profit, that it should share those profits with the rest of us by allowing people like this woman free gas when she needs it. They can afford it, the rest of us can't!
We also need to face the irrefutable fact that private transportation, instead of making the masses independent, has only enslaved them to Corporate America, and that true freedom can only attained with more funds for public transit. Oh sure, it's nice to have your own car and be able to go wherever you want whenever you want, but at what price? Like crack dealers, they tempt you with these shiny pretty objects they call cars, and once you get one, they have you hooked and before you know it you're coming back to them for more.
More gas. More brake fluid. More anti-freeze. New tires. Fancy hubcaps. Mud flaps with naked women on them. Cars, cars everywhere, polluting the environment, and let's not forget the road rage!
We live in a sick society that puts crack dealers, when caught, in jail. I never hear about crack dealers making obscene profits, do you? I never hear about them destroying the planet, do you? And I sure as heck never hear about them taking advantage of unfair tax loopholes and bribing others to promote their evil agenda so they can reap even more profits at the expense of millions of innocent lives. Do you? So why are we jailing them and not the oil executives and automobile manufacturers?
By the way, if anyone out there knows that woman with the gas can, perhaps there is something we can do collectively to help her. Maybe we can wear ribbons and wristbands, or vandalize a few gas stations and torch some SUVs. What better way to raise awareness of how much we care during this most Progressive of months?
CRUEL AND UNUSUAL but I'd imagine damn effective.
