Signs, Signs, Everywhere A Sign

Folks, sometimes it’s pretty depressing to ride around and read business signs. For example, I frequently pass by a boiled peanut stand that has been in the same location for many years. I recently noticed a sign the fellow put up announcing that he has begun to accept Master Card and Visa. It’s indeed a sad state of economic affairs when someone would have to use a charge card for a pound of goobers. Either people are really cash-strapped or the price of the southern delicacy has skyrocketed since I last made a purchase.
When it comes to chicken, most people have a preference between white and dark meat. My taste buds gravitate towards dark meat. I realize that time seems to pass quickly as we grow older, but I would almost swear that it was not too long ago when grocery stores fairly often would sell 10-pound bags of leg quarters for .29 cents per pound, $3 and some change for grilled chicken that would last for a few meals was a real bargain. Now one local grocer has had a sign up for some weeks offering five pound bags of legs for $4.99. You do the math.
About the only encouraging signs I have seen are at gasoline stations. Thank goodness the price of fuel has been decreasing, but lately there has been more and more chatter about raising the state’s gas tax. As it stands now, I can just about afford to drive to the peanut man and grocery store, but their wares are almost out of my reach. Should the tax increase people win out, I hope my neighborhood association doesn’t mind my backyard peanut patch and chicken coop.
Speaking of increasing prices, South Carolina Electric & Gas recently announced its annual rate hike. Those people must fuel their plants with helium and also use the gas to insert into their monthly billing envelopes. Their rates rise without fail, but the seemingly cash needy quasi-government entity still has the bucks to run television ads trying to convince us that they are the bests thing since sliced bread.
My old roommate and I were without power for three weeks and a day after Hurricane Hugo hit. We coped with the inconvenience and adapted. Perhaps it’s time to light the whale blubber lamps again. I only hope I can find my harpoon in the dark while going through peanut and chicken withdraws .
James David Altman lives in West Ashley and has been a contributing columnist for several publications.
He’s the son of the late former S.C. Republican House of Representative of John Graham Altman III. You can reach him at rabidreb@gmail.com.