Would You Like A Side Of Oxygen?

Amazingly nice drive back from Massachusetts: a little overcast, so we had no direct sunlight in our eyes, the traffic was fairly thick but fast-moving and we pretty much could not have had a better ride.

Those on the other side … well, they were slowed down or stopped in several locations. Our turn in the past, their turn now. “Let them eat gas fumes,” as Marie Antoinette once said, as she drove past the stalled peasants in her 1793 Peugeot.

That really is a problem. We went through one toll booth where the cute young thing told us she was just finishing her eight-hour shift. Eight hours of breathing in carbon monoxide and/or whatever else comes out of all those cars’ tailpipes, whatever the fumes are, they sure aren’t something by Calvin Klein.

Now if *I* were running the show, I’d make sure everyone in those booth would have the opportunity to have an eight-hour supply of oxygen, minimal level, through a nasal cannula (those little tubes you see on people, which go from a little box, around their ears and end just below their nose).

At first, you might feel funny and wonder how you look, but after a while, when you don’t have that junk going into your lungs, you might not care what people think. You are no longer breathing in the junk from eight hours of their cars accelerating and, perhaps, not feeling so ill the rest of the time.