EppsNet

Today was the last day of school here in Irvine . . .

“Can I get a ride to Orchard Park?” my son asks. He has friends that he meets there to play basketball.

“Did you check with Mom?” I ask.

“I don’t have to check with Mom,” he says. “I’m out of school now.”

“So you don’t have to check with Mom?”

“No. Not any more.”

After he checks with his mom, I drive him over to the park. Actually, he drives to the park and I ride along.

As we’re approaching a red light at Jeffrey and Trabuco, he says, “I’ll stop the car so you can’t even feel it.”

This is something I showed him how to do. I’m pretty good at it, but he goes through so many slow-motion false stops and starts that by the time he’s done, the car is almost entirely in the crosswalk.

“We’re in the middle of the intersection,” I point out to him.

“I did it though,” he says.

As we drive past the Arco station, I notice that gas prices are up over $3.00 again for a gallon of regular.

“Obama needs to stop playing basketball and deal with these gas prices,” the boy says.

“You’re right.”

I gotta get some gas. I pull off the freeway — Shell or Chevron? They’re right next to each other. I check the price for regular — $2.93 either way.

It’s a tossup.

Then my son notices on a sign that the Shell gasoline is “nitrogen enriched.”

“Nitrogen enriched!?” I say. “Are you kidding me?! Fuck Chevron . . . what is nitrogen, anyway?”

“It’s an element.”

“Yeah I know, but who can tell me why it’s a good idea to put it in gasoline? What are we, chemistry professors?”

“It seeks out and destroys engine gunk.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“I read it on the sign.”

“Oh . . . OK, we’re going Shell.”

I can remember the first time I paid $20 for a tank of gas.

I can remember the first time I paid $30.

And $40.

But I’ve recently blown through the $50, $60 and $70 barriers so fast that they don’t even seem like milestones anymore . . .