Ok, this fill up freaked me out. There was an SUV in the front fill station and I hear him telling his wife that they are out of fuel. He asks me and I said I'm filling, but it kicked off right around 10 gallons. But then after my tank kicked off I couldn't top off. So clearly the station has no more regular gas. Ack! Is this harbinger of things to come?
OMG that's TSHTF right there, grab your BOB and load up the BOV and head for the hills!
I remember The RoadWarrior..To understand who he was, you have to go back to another time..the world was powered by the black fuel & the desert sprouted great cities..Gone now, swept away..two mighty warrior tribes went to war & touched off a blaze which engulfed them all. Without fuel, they were nothing..thundering machines sputtered & stopped..Only those mobile enough to scavenge, brutal enough to pillage would survive. The gangs took over the highways, ready to wage war for a tank of juice
Narrator: My life fades. The vision dims. All that remains are memories. I remember a time of chaos. Ruined dreams. This wasted land. But most of all, I remember The Road Warrior. The man we called "Max". To understand who he was, you have to go back to another time. When the world was powered by the black fuel. And the desert sprouted great cities of pipe and steel. Gone now, swept away. For reasons long forgotten, two mighty warrior tribes went to war and touched off a blaze which engulfed them all. Without fuel, they were nothing. They built a house of straw. The thundering machines sputtered and stopped. Their leaders talked and talked and talked. But nothing could stem the avalanche. Their world crumbled. The cities exploded. A whirlwind of looting, a firestorm of fear. Men began to feed on men. On the roads it was a white line nightmare. Only those mobile enough to scavenge, brutal enough to pillage would survive. The gangs took over the highways, ready to wage war for a tank of juice. And in this maelstrom of decay, ordinary men were battered and smashed. Men like Max. The warrior Max. In the roar of an engine, he lost everything. And became a shell of a man, a burnt out, desolate man, a man haunted by the demons of his past, a man who wandered out into the wasteland. And it was here, in this blighted place, that he learned to live again...
I read in a recent article that many stations are feeling the pinch of the high prices. They have to front the money for many thousands of gallons of fuel and then sell what they have. They must sell what they have to get the cash to buy more. The high prices make that difficult. More like a poor station than a poorly managed one. Of course, one could say both, too.
A few months ago, a couple of stations closed in my area because their older electronic pumps could not be programed to charge over $4 per gallon. Rather than spending lots of money to install new pumps, they just quit.