Gas Shortage in North Carolina

I heard last Friday about the recent gas line spill in Alabama. A newscaster said there might be gas shortages in our area of central N.C. 

Alabama state workers discovered the leak Sept. 9 when they noticed a strong gasoline odor and sheen on a man-made retention pond, along with dead vegetation.

Internet sources say that Colonial Pipeline acknowledged that since the spill was spotted, between 252,000 gallons and 336,000 gallons of gasoline leaked from its pipeline near Helena, Alabama.

Since 2006, the company has reported 178 spills and other incidents that released a combined 193,000 gallons of hazardous liquids and caused $39 million in property damage. Most were caused by problems with materials, welding or some other equipment failure, according to federal accident records reviewed by The Associated Press. The spill reduced fuel supplies in at least five states – Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee and the Carolinas.

Though I heard about the spill on Friday, I didn’t rush to gas up. My wife’s car was full of petro. My vehicle registered around one-half tank of go-juice.

I failed to think about getting gas on Saturday or Sunday. It crossed my mind on Sunday night. I was hearing more about shortages.

On Monday after lunch and before visiting Gold’s Gym, I stopped by Quality Mart, “our” gas station that sits within sight of Gold’s Gym in Southern Pines.  

I saw cars sitting at each of eight pumps – about two cars at each pump. I pulled near the first pump, which is closest to the station office, but had to wait while lady in front of me filled her car’s tank.

I cut my engine and waited as the lady, who appeared to be over 60 and wearing a hearing aid, moseyed toward the pump. She produced a credit card, inserted it in the credit card (CC) slot on the pump, and quickly withdrew the card. (The CC box asks customers to withdraw cards quickly.) She seemed to be taking her time. I saw her punch one of two choices: credit or debit. Then she entered her zip code to get an approval on her credit card. Next, she selected from high test, medium, or regular for gas. She pumped, and when through, hit a button and received a receipt for her gas. She entered her vehicle, fastened up, and drove away.  

“At last,” I thought.

I cranked and moved to the pump. The high-test and medium-grade gas selections had labels taped above them. Those labels told me there was no gas in either of those pumps. The “regular gas” selection was still available. I followed the same procedure the lady in front of me had because I, too, pay for gas with a credit card. I filled up: 10.309 gallons, $2.199 per gallon, total sale $22.67.

I wanted to kick myself for waiting till Monday to get gas.

“Why did I wait?” I asked myself. “That was cutting it close.”

The next day, my wife drove by that gas station and saw a sign saying “Closed.”

A Sous-Chef Helps with Breakfast and Storm Hermine Blows In

Carol and I rose around 9:00 a.m. this morning in Southern Pines, N.C., because we’d stayed up past midnight. We seldom make a big deal of breakfast – usually eat cereal and such – but Carol wanted to prepare an “egg breakfast” for us this morning. I, her “sous-chef,” laid out materials I’ve learned to gather when my wife decides to “make breakfast”:

Four eggs to scramble

Frying pan for scrambling eggs

Spatula

Butter

Cheese (already-grated sharp cheddar)

Milk (one percent)

Hand towel spread on each serving tray

Plates and silverware on two trays

Four pieces of bread for toasting

Butter in small dish for microwaving

Tablespoons of strawberry jam on plates

Teabags (one de-caf, one caf)

Two cups of orange juice

Boiled water for tea

(Whew! I was tired already.)

Carol then stepped to the podium – I mean the stove – to conduct the breakfast-making. She cracked eggs, and mixed eggs, butter, milk, and cheese in the frying pan. I melted butter in a small dish in the microwave.

“Is it time to push down the toaster?” I asked, looking at four pieces of loaf bread sticking up from the toaster.

“Not yet,” she said.

I soon received the OK and pushed down two levers, lowering four slices of bread into the “tanning bed.”  

“You’re toast,” I thought, musing about the popular meaning of that phrase that has come “to indicate that the person being addressed is in deep trouble” (urbandictionary.com).   

I hurried two cups of orange juice into our living room and placed them on a nightstand sitting between our two recliners. We eat in that room and watch TV while we munch.

Carol poured boiling water into teacups. I used the contents of five sugar-substitute (with “stevia”) packets in with my de-caffeinated Lipton teabag. I plopped the contents of three sugar-substitute packets and a caffeinated tea bag into Carol's cup. She likes caffeine, but too much caffeine can mess with my heart’s rhythm. 

Carol continued scrambling eggs while I ejected the toast and smeared butter on it, spreading melted butter with a spoon. I cut the crusts off Carol’s toast, because she finds bread crusts hard to chew. I cut each of her two pieces of white bread in half. She wants her toast “just so.”   

Carol took the frying pan off the stove and brought it to the plates (sitting on trays). She divided the eggs, giving me a bit more than half of the mass.

I scurried with teas to the living room and set them on coasters lying on a nightstand. A lamp sits on the nightstand, along with some of my pens and pencils and Carol’s medicines and whatever. The stand is getting a bit cluttered.

Carol and I brought our trays to our recliners. She hit the mute button on the remote controlling the large TV sitting across the room. I asked a blessing on our food.

She de-muted the TV and a Raleigh, N.C., news reporter gave us the latest on Tropical Storm Hermine. A lady weather person said something such as this: “The storm will push through Georgia and South Carolina Friday before arriving in North Carolina late Friday."

“It’s a good day to stay inside,” I thought to myself. "I hope the power doesn’t go out.”

I washed the morning’s dishes and gazed out our kitchen window. The sky appeared gray, rain was falling lightly, and the wind was “getting up.” “Lord, please don’t let our electric go off,” I thought.

I moseyed to my computer and typed this account of our tasty Friday morning breakfast. I thought about how much my wife likes to watch TV on rainy days and about how I enjoy playing around on my computer. And I thought-prayed, “Lord, please don’t let our electric power go down. If it does, we’re ‘toast.’”