Thinking Out Loud

By Gerard Meister

About Hurricane Wilma

During the aftermath of Hurricane Wilma my wife and I were waiting on a gas line for about an hour (with at least another hour to go), when a car cut into the line a few vehicles ahead of us. Normally, I'm not a combative person; in fact my kids are always admonishing me to be more assertive. (My mother used to say: "You're too good Gerry, that's what's wrong with you - you're too good.") But this time, to my wife's astonishment and even more so to mine, I shot out of the car ready to do battle. (I guess that the fury of Wilma's wind gusts must have caused me to lose some of my senses.)

"Hey you." I shouted to the driver, a young black man with football shoulders and a sheepish grin on his face. "You can't cut into line, fella! Get to the back of the line!"

"I really need the gas mister," he said, staring straight ahead.

"We all need gas, that's why we're here," I retorted. "Do you think your mother would be proud of you for doing this?" I asked, idiotically - (and still can't believe I said it!). He continued staring straight ahead as he inched his car forward. Now a few people came out of their cars to listen to the argument, but no one said anything. Not a peep until a young lady, a slim, trim gal with a Jamaican accent (yes, she was black) joined the fray.

"You might as well get out the line now! " she shouted. "Because when you get to the corner (about two hundred feet away), I'm getting the police after you - see them there up ahead - and don't think I won't. Believe me (she was now leaning into the car, right in the guy's face) you're not getting any f------g gas!" Whereupon and without saying a word the culprit nosed his car out of the line and drove off.

You can bet that next time he'll know better than to mess with me.