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A Message
September 9, 2006 05:03:12 PM
Note from TA: I wrote this editorial on August 31, 2005 in order to vent my anger. My dad said it was pretty good, but then again, I am my dad (a chip off the ol' block, you might say). Heh.

A Message
This afternoon, in the town of Mooresville, Indiana, where I live, gasoline prices hit $3.19 a gallon. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such hate rampage through my body. I told my mom that I wish I were allowed to say curse words, because that was the only way I could describe my feelings. But, since the worst I can say is “Oh heck,” I decided to write this.

I’m starting to think that the CEOs of gas companies are heartless, tyrannical monsters. America is being choked to death, and they’re the hands around the throat. When they look out from behind their boatloads of money at the tear-stained faces of America’s crying children (and adults alike), what do they see? Do they see suffering individuals whose hearts break into thousands of pieces, never to be mended, when parents must tell their children “No, we can’t; we can’t afford it”? No. If there is one CEO whose soul goes out to the people who cringe every time they have to fill up a 15-gallon car at the pump and the price is $45.00, let me meet him. But, no. I know way deep down in my gut that the people behind all these gas hikes see every child, teenager, adult, and elderly person as another opportunity to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until there’s nothing left to squeeze.

“Greed is a powerful ally.” That’s what Qui-Gon Jinn said in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace. Yeah, powerful. Powerful enough to break the back of the top nation in the world? Yes. Powerful enough to hurl a spear through the hearts of the common folk? Definitely. Powerful enough to create money-hungry, grabbing, pulling, yanking demons? Of course. And the horrifying thing is that we can never do enough to stop them. President Bush can sign all the “energy saving” bills to his little Texan heart’s content, but unless he puts a foot down onto those who are killing our nation, nothing will ever change.

The Big Squeeze. That’s how their day begins, that’s how it ends. The cycle never stops. From their waking moment to the minute their head hits the pillow, all that runs through their mind is “Gimme, gimme, gimme! Let’s squeeze a little harder! Squeeze, squeeze, SQUEEZE!” until there’s nothing left to squeeze but an empty peel filled with the pulp of the humans they hurt. When they are faced with the decision of upping or lowering the gas prices, the thoughts that they spend hours in committees discussing are “Shall we up the prices to $4.50, or drop it to $1.50? Shall we squeeze every last drop of green stuff these insignificant worms have? Yes . . . yes!!” Horrible, isn’t it? But it’s the truth. They live to make money off people’s misfortune. Off of a product we would love to live without, but can’t. Off children’s Christmas presents, off that plane ticket to be with a dying relative . . . off a new pair of shoes to replace the ones that are so tight they pinch. Off a new winter coat to warm a freezing body. The Big Squeeze. They never let up. I know, from experience, the pressure that comes from the Squeeze. I can’t go where I want, do what I want, get what I want. I want a new winter coat and some dress slacks! We can’t buy them. The money we’d have spent on the necessities of life has gone right through our desperate hands into the grabbing, stealing hands of those in charge of selling us our gasoline.

It’s not fair!

You hear that, Mr. “I’m-Gonna-Get-Every-Last-Cent”?! It’s not fair! I can’t take horseback riding lessons, my sister can’t buy some computer software she wants, my mother can’t buy new clothes she needs, and my father comes home angry every night! See what squeezing and squeezing gets you?! Pain, agony, and hate!

I know what I said, but I don’t regret it, and I don’t take it back. But here’s something you all ought to know: I’m 13 years old. No child should be sorrowing over the family’s expenses. Oh, how I long for the days when I didn’t know how much my dad was making, but didn’t care. Oh! To have back the days when I could ask for anything for Christmas, and there wouldn’t be a “We couldn’t afford it, Sweetheart” waiting when the question “Where was it?” came. Darn these greedos! Hang them! Hang them until they’re begging for mercy. What if we squeezed back? How would they like seeing their children’s hearts and dreams shatter when told “We can’t afford it”? Give it up, you fools! Surely you can do without 50 billion dollars in profits! The rest of us do.

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