(Apri l 13, 2007) — “Can you spare some change, please?” You usually hear this from someone on the street, someone homeless, someone downtrodden. Yet these words were coming from my mouth: an ultimate lesson in humility, thanks to the vice of gas prices. Recently I found myself driving down the street in downtown Los Angeles. Like any good driver—on the way back from my destination—I look at my dashboard to see if I have any gas for the trip back home. OUCH! An empty tank, light on—I rev the engine and receive a weak cry. I need gas NOW. I drive to the closest gas station through the worst streets I have ever seen. I pass some people with crutches, some in wheel chairs, some begging—some smile as I drive by, some spit and some even yell. The car sputters; I see a gas station down the street. “Please don’t die on me, baby, please keep going, just a little further…”. A tear wells up in my eyes. It’s a miracle, I’m saved—I made it. I look at the sign: more than $3 a gallon. I’m in need. Fine—I’ll pay it. I park my car at the pump, next to some sort of dead animal on the pavement. I walk slowly and cautiously into the station. “Four dollars on eight.” I say. I pull out my wallet. What? This can’t be true! No money!? This can’t be happening. The hairy man behind the counter smiles, then scowls—his dull yellow teeth and green eyes pierce my very soul. He laughs, sensing my fear—my teeth are now chattering. I cautiously retreat like a scared animal—a deer backing away from a hunter. Oh Bambi—I love you so. I get to my car. I let out a sigh. I look around. I’m scared. I look around the barren urban desert. I need money—and I need it now. I see guys with cups all around me. I have my hands and my voice (well, that and my charming good looks). I start asking for money. I have become the beggar. I ask the man in the wheelchair, with his camouflage get-up and his dirt covered skin: “Could you—uh, please spare some—uh, change?” “AHH!” I run away as fast as I can. The next man is much nicer. He gives me $2. The next are much easier. Crutches, casts, broken or missing teeth—everyone has their quirks. Hours after my quest begins, I have gotten my $4, my gas, and I’m on my way home. So what’s the point of this story? GAS IS TOO FREAKIN’ EXPENSIVE! It’s just poppycock.