The last time I bought this much duct tape, I was rennovating my first car, a 1976 Pacer that I bought for $100.00 in 1984. New York winters had taken their toll on my big blue bubble; the sides, undercarriage, parts of the hood, and hatchback had been mostly eaten away by rust. Still, I was happy to have it.
I did my own body work, which meant I pretty much wrapped the car in duct tape, constructing parts of doors where none existed, and creating my own half-silver, indestructable ride--a sculpture on wheels--and it made me really proud. As a finishing touch, I bought six cans of blue Rustoleum paint and sprayed the entire body. Amazing, how from a distance, the car looked better than new. Held together with duct tape and Rustoleum, it was still running and looking snazzy when I donated it to charity four years later.
Today I bought into another machine. I went out and bought six rolls of duct tape. What's wrong with me? I know it won't make a bit of difference. It makes no sense.
Yet I thought about it for two days, and finally decided to go get some. That, plastic wrap, and a utility knife. I stood in Home Depot looking at their cool disaster display, and I couldn't help myself. I found myelf thinking that I should have used plastic wrap when I had my Pacer. I could have stuffed it in the rust holes for reinforcement before slapping the tape on. Talk about indestructible!
So I spent $60.00. And I'm not sure if my motivation was some hankering for my youth and my half-taped car, or fear of what's coming and some lame attempt to assume I have any control whatsoever.
I do have some advice for anyone thinking of heading out to get their own 72-hour kits. If you decide to jump on the duct tape bandwagon, pay attention to the conversations in the checkout line.
This is where the really interesting stuff is going on. My checkout lady was telling me that they can't keep the $40 respirators on the shelves, that people are crazy for batteries, but that anyone who knows the Bible isn't bothering with all of this stuff because they know what's coming. The guy behind me, a two-roller (I'm not sure if that makes him a whimp or brave--I mean that he only bought two rolls), told us he's building his cabin in the Georgia mountains so he won't be bothered by a nuclear blast--you see the mountains diffuse the fallout.
Meanwhile I'm standing between them wondering again, what am I doing? Part of me knows I'm buying into terror just as surely as the terrorists and our government want me to. Another part of me does believe that what's coming is coming, destiny or prophesy--call it what you will.
And so why am I at the store buying duct tape? Duct tape won't circumvent the apocolypse, and it won't get me up to the two-roller's safe house in the mountain any quicker. I'm basically hosed with a pile of tape as my legacy.
By the time I got home, I came to the conclusion that I don't need this stuff at all.
Now what?
Anyone have an old car they need me to work on?
