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Brooks Peterson
Brooks Peterson's column is published Mondays. Brooks also sits on the Caller-Times editorial board and can be contacted at petersonb@caller.com
Monday, August 14, 2000
You, too, can be a shady character
In case some of you haven't noticed, I feel I must confirm that, yes, it is indeed August in Corpus Christi.
In other words: Magic Time.
Over the years, I have tried to acquire a veneer - about one molecule thick - of the stoicism with which veteran South Texans endure this hellish passage. But, as many of my friends and associates have no doubt suspected, I'm faking it.
Every August, there is at the back of my mind the faint but never fully dispelled suspicion that this will be the year it happens: This will be the year that summer just . . . doesn't . . . end.
My rational self fights back, arguing that of course summer, with all its attendant unpleasantness, will run its course. And one fine day, we will awaken, throw open the front door and detect just the slightest hint - the merest wisp - of coolness in the air.
This internal dialogue goes on endlessly. In the meantime, you know what I think about? I mean, all the time?
I think about shade.
In fact, these days I often think of jaunts my parents and I took to Bergstrom Air Force Base near Austin to visit the commissary and base exchange. At times you could see an arresting sight: two or three - maybe more - jackrabbits, each huddled in the wan shade offered by a telephone pole. Surrealistic.
Now I can empathize with those hapless bunnies. Both of the cars I usually drive are without air conditioning this summer. And that, grasshopper, has made all the difference.
If you're blessed with A/C, it doesn't really matter all that much where you park. Oh, sure, if your vehicle is out there with no protection at all from the searing heat of the sun, it's going to be a trifle torrid inside.
Ah, but you know that your discomfort will prove transitory: Your average late-model car can gin out enough cool, or at least tepid, air to render its interior habitable within a matter of a few blocks. And that makes all the difference.
If the A/C is on the fritz, though, these matters take on a whole new complexion. Suddenly the battle for parking space assumes menacing, even maddening new intensity.
Back in my air-conditioned days, I actually steered clear of the shade. Didn't want those disgusting birds up in the trees using the hood of my car as a canvas for their, uh, artwork.
These days, however, I rush to place my car at the mercy of these birds and their primitive digestive systems. And I have slowly acquired an appreciation for the passion and guile with which this game must be played.
Of course, the one guaranteed, dead-solid-perfect strategy for nailing down your place in the shade is to arrive at work at some ungodly hour like 7:30 in the morning. That, however, is asking a lot of a hollow-eyed newscreature whose circadian rhythms are based on a more genteel schedule.
So whaddaya do? You reconnoiter the battleground. You assess your options. And then you strike - mercilessly.
Two sides of the Caller-Times parking lot are screened by a dandy little stand of (reasonably) fast-growing oaks. All the spots in immediate proximity to them are of course shaded at least part of the day.
I, however, have found one or two that afford shade for the duration of a standard workday. These are pearls beyond price. Snag one of these babies, and just forget about running any errands at lunch. They can wait. You're in the shade. No way are you going to sacrifice that. This is war. . . . No, actually, this is August. Same principle.
Now: Say you arrive at work and all the shady spots are taken. There's still hope - but timing is everything. What you do, see, is sneak out at about 12:30 or so, when your colleagues are out filling their faces . . . and you strike. No fear. And for sure no pity.
Is this any way to treat your pals? Who cares? Besides, most of them have A/C. And what have they done for you lately, anyhow?
Trust me: If you're one of the steaming proletarians, you'll find a way to rationalize it. And after all, it isn't as if it's your fault: They deserted perfectly good spots in the shade of their own volition.
Hey: They had it coming.
(Brooks Peterson can be reached by phone at 886-3772, or by e-mail at petersonb@caller.com.)
Brooks Peterson
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