Recently I read an article saying that in Somewhere—the actual name didn't stick because I'm high-centered in a phase of STML—Short Term Memory Loss; anyway, there in Somewhere, gasoline goes for $6.50 a gallon, mostly for taxes. If we taxed our gas like that it'd dampen our consumption habit, but we'd go bananas. A bananas republic is the last thing ready-to-run-again incumbents would chance. So it ain't gonna happen.
In Somewhere, drivers are so mindful of every drop they use that they import only a few tea kettles worth a year—we couldn't drive to Vegas and back for a well-deserved weekend off on the crude oil Somewhere imports.
A palatable treatment for our gasoline addiction would be to increase the miles-per-gallon requirement, but incumbents ain't about to let that happen either, but a fun way to deal with our addiction would be for all of us to switch to the Honda Prius. If we all drove a Prius it'd truly level the playing field—we'd have a 50-50 chance of being first from the blocks when the light turns green, and it'd be nice to have that level field out there on Route 66 if it becomes clear we're about to meet an obvious idiot head-on.
Switching to the Prius would mean that some of us here in nearly-never-never land would have to give up beloved tanks, and a lot more of us would have to kick the acceptable addiction, our season or 20/20 passes to real-never-never land—Baldy—and then have enough willpower to squirrel away the money for our Prius down-payment. Call this non-happening number three.
So, are we stuck with our Mideast addiction? Absolutely not.
One little patriot at a time, we can morph ourselves into Gas Muzzlers. Gas guzzlers are vehicles, but Gas Muzzlers R-Us. With minimal skill and a hell's-bells-why-not attitude, we can adopt Pat Robertson evangelical fervor and become born-again believers—not that we're the only ones who'll be saved—but faith that we arose from our born-again bed to discover that the soles of our right feet had become as thin and sensitive as a safe-cracker's fingertips. Thin-skinned right feet will wholly change the way we drive. With every tiny bit of gas-pedal pressure hurting like a poke in broken ribs, we'll think twice about gunning it. Overnight, we'll add a mile to our mile-per-gallon average. Guaranteed.
It may seem like a wee thing, driving with a thin-skinned right foot, but it's a powerful wee thing, like wisdom written on the head of a pin. When we multiply a one-gallon-per mile bonus by every vehicle in the United States we'll wallop our Support-the-Saudis policy.
Roughly, and just off the top of my head, I figure that every day 90 million cars, give or take, go through a couple hundred million gallons of gas, give or take, just to get to and from work. That gas we save, one gallon at a time, could turn us into crude-oil exporters—sheiks for the 21st century.
Another good thing that'll follow in the prints of our thin-soled feet will be that braking will hurt too. So we'll become primo coasters, skilled anticipators of how far away we can start coasting to the stop sign still a block away. Coasting nets two more miles per gallon, even more if you're not thin-skinned anyplace else and won't flinch at that honking car behind you.
Every time it's necessary to come to a full stop it takes a garden hose blast of gas to get going again, so I've locked in to the long-term goal of never having to garden-hose from the time I leave home until I'm back in the carport. It's a challenge, doable about once in a blue moon, so the first time you succeed—celebrate. Splurge and move up a notch from Gallo.
Finally, here's a tip for bold drivers with the Special Forces mentality. When you come to a stop sign and all you have in mind is a right turn, and there's nary a car left or right or fore or aft, it's absolutely cricket to coast right on through. And then, should a rotating beacon suddenly loom large in your rear-view mirror, pull over ... stop ... step out and with body language imparting nothing but respect, explain that it's Tom Paine civil disobedience you're engaged in—that truly, you're only a patriot trying to conserve gas for your country. Let me know if it works.
Betty Bell
