Column By Mike Bibb
It’s only 110 F and things are just about right. I keep hearing the highly touted “Monsoon Season” will be arriving any day to cool things to a comfortable 107 – in the shade.
Meanwhile, my home AC is whirring like its main bearing is about to launch into the outer reaches of “How high can the monthly electric bill go?” stratosphere.
I don’t know the answer to that question. Nor do the clerks at the front desk of the city utility department. When I asked, they sort of gave me a puzzled look, gazed over to another gal who was buffing her nails with #420 grit paper, and casually replied “Gee, sir, I have no idea how high the rates are going. Have you tried drinking more ice water?”
Insinuating, I guess, I must look kind of dried out. More water is an option, but so is a rocketing water bill.
After a few futile minutes of pleading my case, and realizing I wasn’t doing any better than last month, I reluctantly handed her the check – inscribed with at least seven or eight digits in the “Amount” section – thanked her for her patience and trudged out the door. Content with the realization I couldn’t fight City Hall any more successfully than I could purchase it.
Oh well, I’ll start all over next month – with a new strategy. Instead of running the AC nearly 24 hours a day, I’ll just move into a senior citizen center and complain to the rest of the captive folks how trying to stay cool and hydrated is nearly bankrupting me.
Fortunately, I still have my wife to chew my butt because I didn’t plan my entire retirement portfolio around the monthly electric bill. Admittedly, a slight oversight when contemplating “How to live comfortably in the Golden Years: A retiree’s fictitious guide to the foils and myths of investing wisely.”
Silly me. I’ll have to remember to mention that little discrepancy to my financial advisor the next time he calls and asks if he can help with any money problems I may be having.
Other than outside temperatures rising five times faster than my investments, I can’t think of a thing he could help me with.
When I pointed this out, he nonchalantly recommended T-bills as a guaranteed hedge against an inflationary environment.
“Aren’t T-bills backed by the full faith and credit of the United States Government?” I casually inquired.
“Yes, they are” he unhesitatingly replied.
“And, isn’t this the same government that is now about $35 trillion in the hole?” my memory recalled.
“Well, that’s sort of correct. It’s more of a combination of things when everything is factored into the equation. But who’s counting? That’s the price we gotta pay for living in a civilized society” he proudly boasted.
I think I heard that same line from my tax accountant. They both must have attended the same training seminar.
I’ll try that sales pitch on the clerk at the utility office. I’m sure she’ll be interested in knowing the national debt is higher than reported.
Like next month’s utility bill.
Otherwise, things are great. Can’t hardly wait for winter when heating bills are sure to double – or triple.
In fairness, I should look on the bright side. I have a friend in Lake Havasu who tells me it’s not uncommon for daytime temps to hover around 118 – 123. Which, by Safford’s standards, seems a little unpleasant.
However, the Colorado River, with actual flowing water, is close to him. At least he could jump in, cool down, and if lucky, catch a two-pound fish of some sort; saving a few bucks on the evening’s dinner bill.
I’ve tried that same strategy while trolling the Gila River. So far, I’ve caught three old crusty shoes, a couple of crumpled cans of Bud Light, and a discarded box of Republican absentee ballots from the 2020 election.
Trump says that’s evidence the election was rigged. Maybe, except the ballots were from Greenlee County. Must have floated down the last time the Gila had water in it.
By this time, Graham’s ballots must be stuck somewhere in San Carlos Lake. Which is on Federal property subject to FBI, Department of the Interior, and tribal jurisdiction and traditions: “All local, state, and national election ballots which may wash downstream from upstream counties shall become the property of the San Carlos Reservation under provisions contained within the ancient code ‘Losers Weepers, Finders Keepers.'”
Of course, this presumption can be challenged by a “Writ of Habeas Cacti” – an infrequently used legal maneuver designed to immediately compel detained official documents to be released or held without bond. Depending upon the whims – and political affiliation – of the judge.
“That’s good to know, Mike, but what does that have to do with your utility bill?”
Well, I sort of feel like Trump when paying my monthly electric, gas, sewer, trash, and water fees. Only – so far – I haven’t been lucky enough to have my utility bill discarded into the river.
On the other hand, after leaving the utilities office I feel fortunate to have enough dimes and quarters left over to purchase a street taco from a food cart out front.
Coincidentally, the food cart attendant – I later found out – is the husband of the same utility clerk who just accepted my check.
Not sure what’s going on there. Seems I’ve been – unknowingly – supporting another family with numerous kids and a live-in mother-in-law with a heavy drinking habit.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse when returning home the wife barks “Turn on that damn AC. I’m about to burn up in here!”
It’s 8:17 in the morning.
Then I flipped on an old Wagon Train TV show and noticed not a single wagon had an air conditioning unit stuck to its side.
Those crazy pioneers must not have been human or had to contend with a utility bill!
The opinions expressed in this editorial are those of the author.
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