Stepping on the Gas / Regina Coyula

It’s not all bad news. After more than six years with the installation of the gas at the door of the house, a campaign of the company responsible has been working in my neighborhood since December. In the effort to save time and the amount of pipe needed, the gaslines snake up the stairs like reptiles, looking for the shortest route, but we are a threatened and blockaded country, so we can’t pay attention to aesthetic details.

And so, since last week, I have blue flames in my kitchen that I regulate from below, thus the pressure benefits us. I have recovered the use of my oven; I have been able to roast peppers, (more good news), and toast stale bread. Alarmed, it’s true, by the stench of gas that has flooded the neighborhood. “It’s for safety,” says the employee I ask. I state the obvious, “Then we are in danger!” and another employee who, in a display of cold-bloodedness was smoking right next to the tool cart, gave me the key, “All the joints require a silicone seal that we don’t have, and so there is the stench, but don’t worry yourself, with the oxidation and the impurity of the gas, in a few days the pipes will seal themselves from the inside.”

As a collateral effect, I’ve noticed an increase in the neighborhood of chain link fences, whose installation benefits greatly from the availability of galvanized pipe.

January 26 2011