After bestowing upon my father a Ricotta cheese-making kit for his 51st birthday, we brought the party to my husband’s office, to print out tax forms. It was about 10:30 p.m. Taxes, of course, were due at midnight. We parked in the lot. My husband was surprised at the sudden construction on the street right out front of the building, which is off University just West of CNM. All those trucks and workers hadn’t been out there earlier that evening when he left work. The air smelled bad. We did the printing and came back out. Now there were four or five fire trucks out there, too. We got in our car, put the key in the ignition and …This fireman comes running up. “DON’T START YOUR VEHICLE.” It was some kind of crazy gas leak. I have to admit, I was feeling a little dizzy. Today, I’m thinking, “Damn, we could’ve blown everyone up.”The leak must have been really bad. The hole in the ground was pretty far away, but still I could smell it sweet and nasty in the air. It took PNM a while to turn off the gas line. I shudder to think of the bureaucracy involved in getting a note from PNM to give the the IRS about why my taxes are going to be late. The number of acronymmed agencies involved is daunting.
One Weird Night
2 min read
