Man you guys can really find some obscure MESSED UP possibilities: I never thought that the ice cream truck would qualify as a messed up, but you know what, this viewer is right in many respects.
Read and enjoy. Too bad it’s not summer time or I might actually track one of these cone slinging son of a guns down.
I happen to like the music kids listen to and I’m 39. the music doesn’t bother me as much as the ICE CREAM TRUCK. it drives me CRAZY. All spring/summer/fall I have to listen to “pop goes the weasel” and I can hear the truck 2 neighborhoods over. It’s so loud and the music so annoying. If i drove around my neighborhood with music that loud they would call the police. what ever happened to the bells they used to ring?
a couple of emails to the ticked off file from the weekend :
has the car wash story happened to anyone else?
CAR WASH
I wanted to email you about a fault done to me in July by a Car Wash in Madison, TN. I know that I am not the only one this has happened to and it was horrifying. In July I had just driven back from Gatlinburg from a family reunion. Before picking my dogs up at the kennel, I decided to go through the car wash in Madison on the corner of Old Hickory Blvd and Dickerson Road. It is one of those car washes that you drive up and put in $6 and go thru the automatic car wash. I put my money in and proceeded to go through the car wash. At first everything was going great then my car stopped and I was stuck in it. After seating there at a stand still, I realized I was in trouble when my side rear view mirror came off. I knew at this point I had to figure out a way to get out. I laid on my horn several times and no one came to my rescue. I finally realized I had to get out of it by myself, any way I could and fast. As I put my car into reverse, I!
could hear all kinds of crunching and bad noises. Needless to say after about what seemed like fifteen minutes, I got out. My car looked like I had been thru a bad storm. My side mirror was hanging by wires, my hubcaps on the drivers side were all bented and mangles. I was scared to drive the car in fear that one of the hubcaps would puncture a tire. I went to the office and knocked on the door with no answer. I finally went to my Uncle’s house not too far away and he said it would be fine to drive.
The reason why I am writing you, is because of what happened next. The following Monday I called the car wash and talked to the owner . He came out and looked at my car. He has several questions about how it happened. He called over one of his employees and ask where he was the day before when this happened. The employee stated it was a very slow day, so he left early. He told me to get two to three estimates and to call him with the results. The next day, I called him with more questions and he stated “I told you I would pay for the parts and you would have to pay for the labor. I was speechless, but then said ” I have the white Saturn. He said ” Oh I am sorry I thought you were someone else.” Evidently some other people have the same problem I have with this car wash. Once I did get the estimates totaling over $700.00, He stated he would only pay me $250.00. I was beyond mad. I called my insurance company and there are t!
rying to get the money back for me, but they say that he will not return any calls and it could take up to eight months. This is not fair and the business man that is supposed to be fair and responsible for his actions is not. How many people have actually been thru one of his many car washes and he has done the same thing to. I think this is a very untruthful way to do business. Does his insurance for the car washes even know how many claims he has had for dysfunctional car washes. He is trying to deal under the table without his insurance knowing. I think THAT IS MESSED UP.
I ALSO HATE THIS…
HANDICAPPED PARKING
Every morning when I drive by Starbucks in Green Hills, the handicapped parking spaces are full. The cars don’t have any handicap hang tags or stickers and are typically driven by women in their 30s and 40s coming home from the gym! That’s messed up!
The woman lept from the bench in front of the AA Birch Building like a kangaroo with a hot foot.
“I love my son, but I hate the way he wears his pants!”
Her words were sharp like a paper cut on the underside of your arm.
Just as I was about to ask her what it is about the baggy pants look she doesn’t like, this mother of a 20 year old son, bent over at the waist, oddly extending her arms before her like the Frankenstein monster.
Her blonde hair rumpled in front of her leathery face as she began to shuffle forward.
“My lawn boy wears em when he cuts my lawn,” she cackled, her eyes transfixed on some distant memory in her own mind.
“And his dang pants keep falling down so he has to stop every five feet and pull em back up. I’ll show ya,” she says, never taking her eyes off her imaginary lawn mower. » Continue Reading
Hey Guys a few viewer letters for you to chew on. As always…talk amongst yourselves.
A.C.
P.S. I’m from USC so periodically you’ll have to put up with a few Trojan references, like the one above that I have indiscriminatley pasted here for my own viewing pleasure.
PARKING LOT SPACES
came across something else that has always bothered me, immensely…
I was driving in the parking lot of the mall… the spaces are angled and there’s an arrow to direct your car the correct direction down each aisle as you look for a parking spot. The direction indicated by the arrows tell you which direction to go so that you can pull into a parking spot easily - they are angled toward you.
Consistently… I’ll follow procedure… and it NEVER FAILS that some idiot will be going the wrong direction. These aisles are not made for cars to be side-by-side, but some idiot that doesn’t understand how to operate a car, much less follow directions provided, will come up the wrong way. Once you are in the aisle, you are committed, and there is no way to back out if the spots are full. So, now you either have to barely squeeze by this idiot or look at them (because they are in the wrong), hoping they’ll get the point and back out of the way.
But, no… they, instead, barely squeeze by you. This drives (pun!) me up the wall. I guess it wouldn’t be quite so bad if it wasn’t so completely unavoidable!! I mean, sure, I’ll give the idiot the benefit of the doubt that they don’t see the arrow… but, surely the angle of the parking spaces - and cars parked in them - would give them a visual/mental clue. No, sadly… we are dealing with an idiot…
It just happens… all the time… literally see it happen every day.
POLITICAL SIGNS
I’m a registered republican, but just this once I’ve crossed over to “the other side” for the Corker/Ford race. We live right on Murfreesboro Road in beautiful downtown “Republican” Franklin. The Democratic group put a BIG Ford sign in our yard. A few days after it went up, it came down and a tiny sign replaced it. The Dems got a phone call from the Franklin Sign Man telling them to remove the sign because Franklin didn’t allow the BIG signs inside city limits. I think he meant that Franklin didn’t allow the BIG FORD signs because we keep waiting for the BIG Corker signs to come down. If you want to investigate, check out the BIG Corker signs on Hillsboro Road in Fieldstone Farms. YOu can’t miss the BIg Corker sign because it’s right next to two other BIG Republican signs. Also you can see a BIG Corker sign on Highway 96 East at the Royal Oaks intersection right next to another BIG Republican sign. There are also BIG Republican signs in Alexander Plaza on Murfreesboro Road as well as the intersection of Mack Hatcher and Franklin Road.
I’m actually embarassed to be a Republican if this is the way Franklin plays politics. It’s really quite comical if you get passed the blatant partisanship demonstrated by the Sign Man.
Please don’t come looking for us…… we don’t want to be on the wrong side of the codes department in Franklin…. that’s another story in itself!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Good luck and happy hunting… I’ll be watching…..
NO INSURANCE
i’ll tell you what’s messed up!!!!! People who are able to travel the roads with no insurance; until of course they hit someone and the police find out. I pay a boatload of money every year for car insurance and then I get hit by someone running a red light and has no insurance!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now I think I will have to come up with a huge deductible because of the jerk. I have been saying for years that people should have to show proof of insurance every time they get their license or tags renewed. The policeman told the guy, “You’ll have to get insurance now or lose your car”!!!!!!! If he had gotten insurance before this happened I would not be going thru this now. On TV they walk off looking back at the car and supposedly lose their license and all that. They need to really get tough with the jerks!!!!!!!!!!!
I HATE THE MIDDLE LANE
What I think is really messed up is the purpose of the middle lane on a four lane road.
Can you tell me and everybody else what that lane is for, you see signs that show turning arrows, but seems like people like it for merging into traffic or racing you to the next rd.,and if you don’t let them merge it’s like you are at fault for something ,sometimes you get the finger or maybe called a bad name . I myself believe this lane is
For turning only, if we could get the purpose of this lane and it is for turning only maybe we could well, see if you can help find out this purpose.
WHO THROWS DOGS AWAY?
Lawrence County has NO animal shelters and animals are being thrown out of vehicles and abandoned constantly. They are left on the side of the road to die a horrible death of slowly starving, mange, being hit by cars, or shot by frustrated property owners fearing for their own animals and children. That friendly dog you have in your home or yard can turn into something totally different when left to survive for himself . That is messed up!!!!! There are few alternatives when an animal is abandoned at your place. There are no shelters in Lawrence County , and the Pound is only for the use of the dog catcher for dogs picked up in town limits. I understand, most dogs are euthanized the same week they are picked up if not claimed. Lawrence county has a real animal problem and THAT IS MESSED UP! What are we, the ones that animals are constantly dropped on, supposed to do? We have our own animals spayed, and neutered….we are responsible owners, but we are left with other people’s responsibility that they throw away. Humane Society doesn’t have the funds to do what is needed, but they do what they can. Foster homes are full. The Humane Society has really helped with a lot of spays and neuters, but the problem is growing. We have adoption days, but there are so many animals. THIS IS MESSED UP!
Thanks for listening,
MOVE THE HECK OVER
Andy - to start with - you have a great series going and I mostly agree with you on the topics you have shown. Of course sometimes I disagree if I am one of the violators but keep up the great investigations.
One of my pet peeves for your consideration - similar to the one with drivers in the HOV lane! I really get ticked off at drivers who persist in driving in the left lane and refusing to get over. You can’t pass with ease - especially if you are outside the city on regular 4 lane Interstate highway. Often they are oblivious to the driver behind them and I have lost count of the number of people driving 70 mph in the left lane while talking on their cell phone. In the US we are trained to pass on the left side of a vehicle. I am not comfortable passing on the right because you are not sure what the driver is going to do or will he even look in the right side mirror. Flashing headlights and tailgating have no impact on their perception that it is their right to drive in the inside left lane. It is as if they think it is in their life job description to slow down drivers who want to drive faster than they do. We train drivers using TV to not drink and to buckle up. How often have you seen a TV message to stay left because it is the law? Is this considered acceptable behavior by the THP and TDOT?
Often I think this is a potential source of the road rage often discussed. I personally think that cars should come equipped with 50 cal. Gattling guns to move them out of the way. If you want to drive in the left lane because it might be smoother - that is OK - just get out of our way when we are behind you. In Europe on the Autobahn, blinking headlights mean get over - we are coming through - and they will (one way or the other)
THE NAME OF MY SHOW IS MESSED UP
I’m ticked off. The Nashville police department runs a speed trap on 21st Avenue on Sunday nights at the end of the month. The speed trap is always at the same location, 21st Avenue just north of I-440. The speed limit changes at I-440 from 30 mph to 40 mph, so people are always speeding up there. I was ticketed for going 42 in a 30, a $92 fine! I think this is ridiculous, because this is not a residential or pedestrian area, and it was late at night, around 10 pm. No one could possible be harmed at these speeds. Also, the policeman didn’t even ask to see my registration, probably because he was in a hurry to get me out and pull others over. This speed trap must only be to generate revenue for the police department, and it really ticks me off!
Like a machine gun slinging bullets across the horizon, the words fly from his lips.
The smoke patrol man spoke in stream of consciousness, using sentences that seemingly had no beginning, and no end.
“We have this blue sign directing them…politely walking people to smoking spots hours 8 hours a day..”when they schedule operations there are more smokers.”
Like a windmill whirling in a hurricane, his arms wave in front of his body, accentuating his many points.
Tom Metty is a live wire of energy and pure passion as he tells me how he is paid to patrol Vanderbilt Medical Center, locate smokers, and politely ask them to smoke in the designated smoking areas.
“I walk through 11 medical areas.”
“I check the lobby.”
“If there is a lot of operations that day we see lots more smokers.”
Eight hours a day, Metty and his smoke patrol partner, Frank Blair III, engage smokers and move them to the appropriate smoke zones.
“How tough is your job,” I ask Metty.
The spark plug of a man with the choppy legs and dedication to duty keeps moving forward. His hand is clutching a digital counter that he uses to keep tabs on the number of smokers he encounters. His eyes search the perimeter like an Eagle soaring on an updraft, waiting for an unsuspecting field mouse to poke its head from the underbrush.
“My job is not bad,” he says with an East Coast accent. His words come at me fast and staccato like.
“It all depends on the person delivering the message. If you do it politely and courteous, then 95% of people listen. Those who don’t are usually under a lot of stress anyways.”
About this time, we encounter a large man seated on a bench. He is a massive human wearing a tent sized shirt and shorts so big I can’t imagine where you would buy them. He reminds me slightly of the Jabba the Hut character in Star Wars.
Smoke is pouring out of his nostrils and lips like a 20th century factory burning coal in a world without EPA regulations.
Metty slowly approaches the smoking violator who is seated four feet from a large hospital sign that says: SMOKING PROHIBITED HERE!!
Metty hunches over and rubs his hands together like a car salesman ready to make a deal.
“How ya doing sir?, how is it going?”
Jabba the Hut takes a long pensive drag on his cigarette. I watch as he exhales a grey veil of smoke into Metty’s personal space.
Like a boxer taking jabs to the body, Metty tolerates the violation of hospital policy and personal disrespect.
“Hey sir, let me show ya, there is a smoking area right over there,” Metty says hunching over, pointing into the distance.
“There’s one right across the street there. It’s like there is no smoking over here. You probably didn’t know that, but it’s ok. Can you, you’re almost done anyways…”
As with most of Metty’s sentences, this thought goes unfinished and a new barrage of words begins.
“Thanks. There is one right over there. If you walk across the street. It’s almost done anyways.”
Metty smiles, waves a friendly thank you to the man, then walks away. His steely eyes now set with resolve as he scans for his next violator.
I watch Jabba the Hut as he pokes the cigarette into his thick lips, draws a tornado of smoke into his massive body, then exhales a storm cloud of soot into the hospital’s no smoking zone. Without thought he flicks the butt onto the ground.
“Are you kidding me,” I say aloud from behind my camera. I feel like making a citizens arrest on the guy for littering.
I catch up with Metty who is prowling the front of the Children’s Hospital like a Cheetah sneaking through the high grass.
“I want it to be right to the point. Nice and courteous. Say hello to the person first instead of saying PUT THE CIGARETTE OUT!,” he says to me with conviction.
With machine gun pacing, Metty exhales thoughts and words that begin and end without warning.
“This is actually a hospital.”
“People shouldn’t smoke around wheel chair patients or people with sicknesses.
“On any given day, people lighting up a cigarette, we’ll catch 80 to 115 people a day.”
As Metty continues to pontificate, I am struck by the thought that Vanderbilt pays two men to walk the grounds of the hospital asking people not to smoke. It’s amazing they would have to go to this extent, especially since there are hundreds of signs posted ever five feet that essentially tell people this very fact.
Baptist Hospital laughed at me when I asked how many smoke patrollers they employ.
St. Thomas informed me they have smoking zones, but no one on the pay roll to stop smokers from smoking in no smoking zones.
So why does Vandy do it? Spend a few minutes at the Hospital and it becomes an easy question to answer:
I watch as a sick child in a wheel chair is rolled into the sunshine on a beautiful afternoon. He is wearing a hospital gown and his thin arm is attached to an IV bag of medicine. He is bald and pale, presumably from his sickness.
I keep my distance continuing to watch and think about the reason no smoking zones are particulary important around a world class medical facility like this one.
I lower my camera for a moment and put myself in the child’s place. My heart grows heavy as I think about a young boy, perhaps 10 years old, being forced to deal with a heinous universe of pain and sickness. This kid should be on a ball diamond somewhere sliding into second base with his buddies. Instead; he’s in a hospital wheel chair where he must be rolled into the soothing rays of the sunshine for rejuvenation.
I watch as people stand like zombies against the walls and poles of the massive structure. They exhale their toxic smoke, sending it over the plethora of no smoking signs like a radioactive cloud of indifference.
Over and over again, the hospital doors open and shut. Each time the seal is broken, a rush of air enters the hospital in a vacuum like WOOOSH.
I watch as the swirling tobacco smoke furtively floats on a wisp of air being steadilly sucked into the hospital like a predatory serpent.
I imagine that exhaled evil finding its way into the air vents. I can see it slithering its way through the duct work of the hospital, finally uncoiling itself in the little sick boy’s room. I imagine the boy innocently inhaling someone else’s cancerous waste product and coughing an unecessary, unhealthy cough.
That’s why Tom Metty does what he does. If he can move one smoking person to the proper place, away from a doorway or hospital air vent, then it’s worth his time and the hospitals money.
I find myself getting angry at the smokers. Like ants at a picnic, There are so many it’s hard to count. They are on curbs smoking and leaning against walls smoking and seated on benches smoking, and all of it within clear sight of NO SMOKING SIGNS that could have been flashing flourescent orange and it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference.
“How do you deal with these people over and over,” I ask the relentless smoke patroller.
Metty pauses as the light fills his eyes. Suddenly there’s a clarity and purpose I have not heard before. His words are passionate and precise.
“Usually they really aren’t thinking. You can see their mind is on what the doctor has told them. They are worried about the news. People just have things on their minds. They have surgeries going on and people dying. At first when I started I said, Geez, don’t people see the signs? But after a few days, I realized that these people have car wrecks or cancer treatments or liver transplants and they are thinking about calling uncles and aunts and telling them the news. The Last thing they need is someone with a wise attitude to come up to them and say, hey by the way, you are smoking here in the wrong spot. That don’t work.”
Metty smiles broadly and I can see the pride he has in his job. He knows he is making a difference in the lives of the sick, and in those who have come to this Hospital to wait and pray and hope.
Metty realizes what I only now understand; that these smokers aren’t breaking the law because they are indifferent to the rules. Much to the contrary, they’re pensive and worried and consumed by overwhelming emotions. They smoke because they have to and they do it wherever they may be. With eyes full of tears and heavy heads full of anguish, maybe they really don’t see the signs that are plainly before them.
As Metty reinforces to me, most people are cordial and gladly obey his suggestion to move on. He says the next day he and the offender often exchange handshakes and pleasantries.
Metty may wear a coat that calls him smoke patrol, but in my mind, Tom Metty is an ambassador of good will, providing a polite thought and caring conversation for people who are often in their darkest hours.
I salute Vandy for taking such an unprecedented initiative.
Thanks for the abundance of emails (most of which were very insightful and kind) on the dog waste story.
On the surface it seems like kind of a silly news story, but after reading a plethora of emails and talking to many more of you in person, I quickly came to realize how passionate you folks are about this issue.
Being a long time hard news reporter, this is not the kind of story I would have ever told before. But this is what the MESSED UP franchise is for. It was a story generated by you guys through my blog. I threw the idea out to all of you on a sounding board like this one and you let me know that it was an issue you wanted to talk about.
Glad to oblige.
Along those lines: a nice lady left me a message. She says Hendersonville has a law that mandates cats be kept on leashes. HMMMM. I’ve never heard that. She says it is a worthwhile ordinance since many cats run loose in her neighborhood and children have been scratched or bitten.
What do you guys think?
Is a cat on leashes story viable? Perhaps we’ve run the animal issue into the proverbial ground.
If her information is accurate, it was certainly an issue in Sumner County.
Rocks pelted the front of our news vehicle in a wild percussion of metal being assaulted.
“Another hit,” Big Al lamented, while tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
“TINK”
“Get out from the back of this thing,” I sputtered.
“PLACK!
I felt like we were two soldiers trying to hold down the beach in the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. The onslaught was constant and there was no where to take cover.
SPLATT!
A wad of wet dirt suddenly sprays across the windshield.
“Man this truck is a one man wrecking crew,” I scream.
Just then I recoil in the passenger seat as a thumb size rock dances off the tailgate of the truck, and strikes the windshield above my forehead.
I scan the safety glass for a crack. I don’t see one.
“I hate these damn trucks,” I exclaim while angrilly reading the back of the dump truck.
NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR BROKEN WINDSHIELDS. STAY BACK 100 FEET.
“Who the hell is responsible for broken windshields if they aren’t,” I say to Al.
Al is too busy to answer. His eyes are staring intently at his mirrors as he looks for an opportunity to weave out of traffic and get some distance from this monster windshield destroyer rolling up I-65.
“We’re packed in like sardines,” Al says. “You need to relax, we’re going to get killed if I pull out now.”
THWACK!
Another bit of debris falls off the truck’s tail gate and hits the grill of our car at 70 mph.
“Why do you always get behind these trucks man?”
I shake my head looking up at a chunk of gravel on the truck’s tailgate just waiting to be launched.
“It’s red,” Al says with a smirk.
“The truck is red? That’s why you are drawn to it?”
PLACK
Another object glances off the car.
“yes the dump truck is red,” i say laughing out loud. Then i realize that, Like a bull attracted to a matadore’s cape, Al is attracted to red rolling vehicles. don’t ask me why, it’s one of his idiosyncrasies.
Al is a fierce news warrior, who has crashed in airplanes, and been thrown out of cars. He is one serious news photographer who will stop what he’s doing and roll down his window to inhale the siren of a passing fire truck. Spot News is like his morning coffee.
I feel a sense of relief as Al is able to merge into the other lane of traffic and we begin to pass the dump truck. I look up at the hairy armed truck driver. He’s on a cell phone. He appears more oblivious to what’s going on behind him than Jessica Simpson at a math club meeting.
I feel like giving the guy the finger, but driving around in a rolling channel 2 bill board, I think better of it. I swallow my anger as we get in front of the big rig where rocks being tossed into my skull are much less likely.
I think about the sign on the back of the truck: NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR BROKEN WINDSHIELDS. I can’t believe the audacity of the message. I am determined to find out the law.
I post the idea on my website and viewers connect with this consternation immediately telling me all kinds of horror stories about dump trucks and flying rocks.
A week later our MESSED UP cameras are tailing any number of these trucks.
I interview A MPD officer, who tells me the driver of the truck is totally responsible for his load; This means that his load must be “tarped” to keep items from coming out of the top. The tailgate must be swept, so that rocks left behind do not become projectiles of death when the truck hits a pot hole.
I ask a cop about the signs on the back of these trucks and he sets me straight. The trucks are not responsible for road objects that get caught in the truck’s tire and are flung into your car. These signs usually say something like not responsible for road objects…The officer tells me that nobody is reposnible for damage that occurs from this.
The truck driver isresponsible, however, for any rock or piece of debris that comes off his truck and strikes your vehicle.
The dump truck company I spoke to on this subject tells me that all motorists, if struck by a flying piece of debris that came off a truck, should get the number of the truck, the date and time of the incident and where it happened precisely. Trucking records will help them ascertain whether the report has merit or if it is a bogus call.
Believe it or not, the trucking company tells me some people report being hit by flying rocks that came from trucks that were never where the motorist says the truck was.
The moral to this story: You can hold the company or truck driver responsible, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, so if you can stay out of harm’s way, stay out of harm’s way.
To be fair and balanced…I also received this unsolicited email today:
My first from Paris by the way. What a small world we live in:
I am Nashville writer working in Paris France this fall and I have to say you really help with being home sick.
I Came across your blog as i was searching for news from home and laughed my you know what off with the Dog poop story. Thanks for posting that story. You have just made a home sick guy laugh his derriere off.
When you work on TV you are subject to ridicule as well as praise. I don’t like your hair, or can you believe that suit he wore, or I hate his voice, or… well you get the picture.
So far, we are about a month into this MESSED UP franchise and I would say the response by you folks has been overwhelming.
But I do read everything you guys send, and to be honest with you, after hundreds of emails, this is the first truly negative one I have received, which by tv standards is a grand slam!!
Still, I’ve shared the good, so here is a viewer with a rather negative view of our new endeavour: If she was embarrassed for me on gas prices, wait till she sees the dog poop story re run Sunday night at 10pm.
She’ll go crazy!!
A.C.
“I just saw your segment for the first time, and it’s absurd. Why not report whatever the story is as NEWS instead of employing such bad theater? I’m embarrassed for you and for Nashville.”
SUSANNE HICKS
To be fair and balanced…I also received this unsolicited email today:
I am Nashville writer working in Paris France this fall and I have to say you really help with being home sick.
I Came across your blog as i was searching for news from home and laughed my you know what off with the Dog poop story. Thanks for posting that story. You have just made a home sick guy laugh his derriere off.
“IT’S A CONSPIRACY!,” The man with the silver hair said, pumping another thimble full of gas into his all ready filled SUV.
“Why do you say that,” I ask, trying to get the man to tell me what’s on his mind regarding gas prices.
“It’s big oil and it’s connection to the Republican Party,” he says sagaciously.
“And there were Alien Autopsy’s in Roswell,” I sputter back. “What are you talking about?”
The man pushed his sun glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Big Oil and the President are in bed with each other. Why else are prices down? You think It’s a coincidence that the elections are coming. I mean think about it.”
Like a raw wire he girated around the back of his car. I could tell he was energized by my question and his belief in the larger conspiracy it presented.
He pumped the heavy metal gas handle again. The hose lurched as another rush of fuel shot into his monster truck.
“It’s simple,” he says clearing his throat. “Prices go down, the Republicans get reelected. The Republicans get reelected and then the politicians can draft policy that benefits big oil. They’re all in bed with each, but we consumers are the ones really getting screwed.”
I laughed out loud. “Sounds like an episode of the X Files.”
“X Files,” he chortles. Very obscure reference. “Well good luck.”
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