At this point in the narrative, it would be a good time to explain (to
those in the audience that have never had the desire to give their
vehicle the aerodynamics of a brick), that a rooftop carrier is a
rectangular fiberglass compartment that can be "secured" (a loosely-used
term, I've discovered) to the top of your car. It consists of two
halves (a bottom and top), and is hinged on one side for easy opening by
any NBA player. Your belongings can be stashed inside and
protected from the elements and the prying eyes of any nosey truck
driver looking down from on high.
So now, on the afternoon before our intended departure, I had to
purchase and install a rooftop carrier. But I still didn't see
anything to worry about (Warning Sign #1). After all, it was just
a simple fiberglass shell that straps to the top of a car. How
much trouble could it be?
I'm sure the architects of Obamacare asked themselves the same question.
In the small town of Tehachapi where we were currently living, there was
only one place to buy such an item: the local
super-mega-giant-discount-retailer. Although there are quite a few
competitors in this retailing category, all have a few things in common.
Federal law demands that they all have names ending in the word "Mart".
And no one remotely resembling Mom or Pop runs one.
I drove through the abandoned downtown area and into the gigantic
parking lot, parked my car, and hailed a cab to get me to the entrance.
(By the way, have you noticed that people in wheelchairs always manage
to find the good parking spots?) Then I was through the front
doors and being greeted by a senior employee who offered me a shopping
cart. At least I thought he did; it wasn't until I took it that I
realized he was using it for support. I left the area quickly and
discreetly; if the other employees were as helpful as he was, he'd be
picked up in no time.
All material copyright 2009 Chuck Thornton