Polyester curtains and a redwood deck

Apparently all the same fools who run to Kroger if our local meteorologist mentions snow flurries have decided to cause a gas shortage here in Middle Tennessee. Just here, nowhere else.
No one can explain why, but panicked drivers yesterday caused such a run on gas stations that the paper reported today that 85% were out of gas. OUT. As in "can't get any, now matter how much money you have."
Oh, believe me, it was a crisis here in Brentwood. You know it's bad when moms driving Escalades are sitting 15 cars back in line to get gas, because they don't like to wait for anything. There was no interruption of cell phone service, of course, so those were fired up and in use as the No. 1 boredom-prevention device.
I drive a Ford Explorer, which is like a junior varsity SUV. I justify it by reminding myself that it uses regular gas. But I had let my gas gauge drop below 1/4 and just assumed, like I always do, that I'd fill up after dropping Owen off at preschool Friday. See around here, we're used to getting what we "need" when we need it. So when I pulled into my favorite Mapco, which was eerily not busy, my heart sped up when I saw plastic grocery sacks over all the gas nozzles.
No, no, no, this can't be happening here. Only the teeny tiny country towns actually run out of gas. This Mapco is about 50 yards from Interstate 65 and the biggest mall in the state. I still have to pick up three boys from three different locations and drive to a birthday party at Glow Galaxy! We cannot be OUT OF GAS.
Same story over at the Shell station. Grocery sacks. No gas. No prices on the signs. That's when my "low gas" light came on. I went home and began thinking about hoarding canned goods.
At this point we only had one vehicle that had a couple of gallons in it. To illustrate how our lives were thrown into a tailspin during the Brentwood gas crisis, my husband and the boys RODE BIKES to Owen's soccer game this morning. I, of course, drove the vehicle on fumes because I was bringing the chairs.
On my way there, Tim called my cell phone and whispered, "I just heard someone say the Concord Corner Market has gas and there is no line." I drove straight there and took up spot No. 9 in the newly forming line. Rather than piling up cell phone minutes, I commenced to judging the other people in line in front of me.
"Well, she got done pretty quick," I thought. "She must not really have needed gas. I'M ON FUMES HERE, PEOPLE!" I started thinking it would be a good idea for the store employees to come out and order the lines according to need. If cars have half a tank or more, send them on home. Of course, I assumed I'd be near the front of the line since I was running on FUMES.
My nominations for worst violators of the unwritten gas crisis rules were the woman in the Yukon who kept trying to top off, and the man pulling a trailer that carried a lawn tractor and three five-gallon gas cans. "Oh please, does he really need to MOW today? I'm running on FUMES here, mister, and I'm late for my kid's soccer game."
I mean, what's next? I may actually have to carpool.