At The Pump

It was 11:43 in the morning, and the gas station still was not open. Mini-buses and cabs and mass transit vehicles were lined up almost to Ramses Square which is approximately a mile distant. It was hot, even in the shade, and the drivers were camped out on the sidewalk on their grass mats, set in for the long haul because until the attendants pulled down the barriers to the tanks, the line wasn't going anywhere. The drivers seemed to be accustomed to this routine. Some had coolers and water and an unending supply of cigarettes. 

I imagine the States looked something like this during the gas crisis of the 1970s. I've seen black and white photographs of cars lined up at the pump. Of course, life here now is a bit different than it was then and there, so I'm not sure if the comparison is quite accurate. At times, I get the impression they're all living on a tight rope. Most of the problems are attributed to the new people in power. If the lights go out, it's because of Morsi. If traffic is backed up a mile in both directions, it's because of Morsi. If a dog leaves reeking poo in front of your doorstep, it's because of Morsi.

For lack of knowing a good way to end this post, I'll leave it at that.