The gasoline crisis is growing more and more frightening with each passing day. Americans seem to be taking it all in stride though. I mean what else is there to do. People must go to work and to the grocery store. Students who commute to college must drive to their classes. I don't think any college campuses have instituted "Inclement Gas Price Days" yet. It may come, it may come. As of now, I believe that we will keep paying out the wazoo for the liquid gold that is our core source of get-up-and-go. In short, we have to get from point A to point B, and we need gasoline to do it. However, if we can get it cheaper, then we are happier. However, it's absolutely intriguing how gasoline prices affect human behavior.

I had to take a business trip a couple weeks ago, and drove by a small station that was advertising gas for only $3.68. I nearly lost control of my car. That was ten cents cheaper than five miles back. I became nervous and excited, and immediately pulled over and filled up. I felt unusually accomplished. I felt the need to share my accomplishment. So, I called my son in excitement to share my joyous news.

His comment was not what I expected. He should have been proud for me and praised my attentiveness and uncanny ability to react on such short notice to these amazing gasoline bargains. Instead he said, "Mom, that's sad."

It occurred to me that he was completely right. Sad is probably not even the correct word to describe the dire situation. Disgust may perhaps be more appropriate. I consider myself to be very rational most of the time, and for me to become so worked up over ten cents, well, let's just say for a split second, I pondered putting in a call to a Gas Price Therapy support group, if there is such a thing. Maybe I should start one. I can't be the only one with this affliction. Before the day was over, I realized I was not. There were others.

As I recovered from my moment of madness, I went into the small convenience store, where I had purchased the infamous cheap gasoline, and bought a Diet Coke and some chocolate, because that always makes me feel better, at least for the time being. On my way out, I noticed a middle-aged man, nicely dressed, pumping the ten-cents-cheaper fuel into his shiny, black 2007 Honda Accord. He looked unusually blissful, for such a hot day, seeing that he was wearing a tie.

As I walked back to my car, I passed him. He was finishing filling up his car. I noticed that he had pumped over $35.00 worth of gas into the Honda. He got off cheap, I thought, even if the gas was more inexpensive. He pulled the gas handle out of his tank very carefully; like he was afraid it would break. I found this very odd.

A little bit of gas dribbled out of the handle. It was almost poetic how the sunlight glistened off of the liquid gold. Dazzling streams of rainbow-like light beams shot out in every direction just for a split second - then it was gone. For that second, it was amazingly beautiful. Then, just as quickly, it was simply gasoline droplets falling through the air.

I swear the man's face changed completely at that precise moment in time, from ecstatically happy to one of complete agony and sorrow.

As I drove away, I looked in my rear view mirror, and I'm sure I saw a tear in the corner of his eye as he watched the droplets of gasoline hit the pavement.

Learn more about this author, Kimberly Sexton.
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