They are trying to steal our water,” said Curmudgeon. “Moffit’s Raiders are straight out of the Civil War ragamuffins who tore towns apart, but today act as ‘tho the law was on their side.”
“It often is,” said Breadman.
“Here! Here!” exclaimed Mrs. Storekeep.
“What would you, the Curmudgeon, suggest?” asked Postman who was sorting Christmas circulars for the box holders.
“Why, a contest about new and exciting ways to save water. For example, this week I myself thought of a good one: I suggest that children take their showers during the commercial break of their favorite TV program, which would lead to short showers–”
“And smelly kids,” said Breadman.
“Seriously,” said Mrs. Storekeep, “I would think that universal water meters for everybody who uses public water would probably help.”
“There are many empty swimming pools around WNC,” said Gasman, who just came in the front door from filling the store’s gas tank. “I suggest they be used for mass bathing facilities every Saturday night. Or perhaps each Township could have its own pool and we could cover them with plastic canopies until the weather warms again, and sell advertising space on their surface to influence overflying helicopters that pass overhead on their ways between various hospitals.”
At that point, Dawn, Mrs. Storekeep’s sister from Atlanta rose up from the lower shelf of the handy tools counter and said: “A lot of people raise tropical fish and use more water than they deserve and I think it’s a crime that guppies and gold fish should be paddling about when industry goes without – the various Townships could set up special grants for fund apartments for finny pets.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to periodically have patrols to check leaky faucets?” asked Gasman.
“No!” shouted Dawn, “What do you think this is, a police state?”
“Stop serving water in restaurants unless it’s asked for,” volunteered Mrs. Storekeep. “In words that echo the late Queen of France, ‘Let ‘em drink coke!”
“Well, my uncle Ed is a well-known chicken entrepreneur,” said Breadman, “so how about giant flocks of chickens loaded with silver iodine pellets to fly out over the clouds and seed them for rain?”
“That’s stupid,” said Dawn.
“And chickens don’t fly when released from coops,” said Curmudgeon.
“I’ve got it,” said Cityfella, who was silently stooping behind the glass-topped cabinet that held rounds of ammunition, “– let’s buy icebergs and float them down to the coast and use them to fill giant water tanks built along the shoreline, then pipe all the water to Raleigh and wait for our fine government to send out metered gallons to the various counties who belong to Moffit’s Raiders. After all I think the French were planning to follow such an idea in Africa – and remember the French know best. Think of the taxes that the state could mete out to once again fill our state coffers.”
Silence reined until Curmudgeon said: “Knowing the efficiency of the Paris sewer systems from stories of old, we should always approve of using the French for ideas on water. After all, 40 million of them were never wrong.”
Silence reined for another forty seconds, until the front door burst open and a bunch of kids from the schoolbus noisily entered the store.
