One of my favorite things about Nashville is our ability to overreact to just about any weather pheonomenon. When it snows, which it does here on occassion, though hardly very deep, the Butcher and I like to go to the grocery store just to watch people buying five gallons of milk and ten loaves of bread at a time. One wonders what folks plan on doing with five gallons of milk if the power goes off–maybe making large vats of instant pudding in the dark? I don’t know. Quite possibly, there are wild winter pudding wrestling matches I’m missing out on. I can’t say.
And when it rains, you are literally taking your own life in your hands when you drive, because people act as if the presense of rain negates all traffic laws. People ignore lanes. They run lights. They drive as fast as they can, as if that will somehow help them get to their destinations safer.
And now, in what might be considered the world’s most fucked up show of solidarity with the people who are actually going to suffer due to the hurricane, we’re running out of gas around town. The building has been a-flutter all afternoon with rumors of prices jumping fifty to seventy-five cents over the course of the day and now, folks are saying forget even trying to buy gas, that there’s no gas left along West End.
I hope I make it home in one piece before the rioting and looting start.