A TEEN'S TAKE
The Political Views of an All-American Teen
“…Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness…”
Constitution of the United States
The Energy Crisis
“Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Inspector. I just don't know what’s going wrong! All the equipment is working - and I’ve saved a lot of money. I just don’t get it.” The man wrung his hands nervously as the inspector scratched his chin.
“Sounds fishy. Would you mind if I took a look?” The inspector had a hunch.
“Not at all! Please, follow me.” The man motioned for the inspector to follow. “It’s all in the garage.” He led the inspector through a dark hall, down a flight of creaky stairs, through a groaning door and into a dark cave of a garage. In the far corner hung a large gray box with sparks jumping out from it in every direction, screaming for help as they plummeted.
From beside him, the inspector heard the man fumbling around, trying to find the light switch. He heard the little switch flip up, but nothing happened. The inspector gingerly asked, “Is there something wrong with your lights?”
Somewhere to his left, the man answered, after a nervous cough, “No…I just upgraded them. They use 90% less energy, and they’re better for the environment.”
“Hmm…” Slowly, the inspector began to piece together a hypothesis. He gradually became aware of a soft, translucent light being emitted from three spiral-shaped light bulbs in the bare ceiling. At a deathly slow rate, the measly bulbs began to emit more light, until finally, ten minutes later, the cluttered garage was somewhat visible.
Upon clearing his throat, the man spoke up. “Now then… The box is over there,” he pointed at the gray box which belched red-hot sparks as if a rhetorical question had been answered. “You might want to watch you steps. And mind you, sir, don’t bump into my car.”
The inspector nodded. “New paint job?”
The man fidgeted, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want you to get electrocuted.”
The inspector looked at the man, his eyes portraying his bewilderment.
When he saw inspector’s inquisitive stare, the man spoke, answering the unspoken question. “It’s electric. Brand new, actually.” He rocked up and down on his heals proudly. “I bought it with my union pension.”
The inspector struggled to keep a straight face, nodding accordingly. Then he turned to survey the rest of the garage, trying to pick a route to travel through the rubble to reach the sparking box. At once he set off, careful to avoid contact with the car, which sported a Toyota emblem on its fender, the inspector noted with a “humph!” Slowly, he navigated the treacherous layout, reaching the sparking box minutes later.
He pulled his fire-retardant gloves further up his arms, then reached to open the door of the large gray box. When he fumbled to unlatched it, a small voice pleaded to him from within, “Help me, please! Help me!”
The inspector jumped, startled, and jerked his hand away from the box. The man, safe at the other side of the garage, removed his blue Yankees baseball cap and wrung it in his hands upon seeing the inspector’s reaction to the wimpy plea for help. Oblivious to the tiny prisoner, the man shouted out, “Say, are you okay?”
The inspector glanced quickly over his shoulder and replied, “I’m fine.” He turned back to the box and swallowed.
“Help me, please!” The cry sounded again! The inspector gulped. “H-hello? Is anyone th-there?”
“Yes! I’m trapped! Help me, please!” The inspector looked around him for assistance, but found none. The pleas were becoming more desperate. “Help me! Please!”
The inspector gripped the latch again, trying to steady his nerves. Should he open the box, lest his suspicion prove to be right?
“Help me!”
Without thinking, the inspector pulled the latch up and jerked the door open. The sorry sight which met his eyes caused him to gasp loudly.
"Is everything alright?” the man across the room asked.
“Yeah,” came the breathless reply. The inspector rubbed his eyes, blinked, then cautiously peered back into the box as if it were all a horrible dream. Nope. The same thing sat in the corner of the dark box: a very unhealthy bolt of what was supposed to be pure energy. Instead, the jagged bolt sat slumped over, his legs crossed, arms raised above his head and shackled to the box with petroleum-based plastic ties. The bolt looked up, his slowly pulsing radiant body giving off weak red sparks. “Help me!” he cried.
The inspector leaned in closer. He saw that the white ties the bound the bolt’s arms to the box bore the words “Efficiency Restraints”. The inspector shook his head. “Just as I thought!” He turned and shouted to the man, “Come over here! I’ve got to show you something!”
The man looked back up the stairwell behind him, as if looking for an excuse not to comply. After finding not a one, he sighed heavily and set off.
The inspector turned back to the bolt. The look of terror that spread over the bolt’s face put an icy weight on the inspector’s heart. The bolt struggled weakly against the ties, then giving up, he breathlessly begged, “Please, free me! Don’t let him hurt me!”
The inspector cocked his head in puzzlement. The bolt struggled again, but to no avail. “Please! He’s the one who did this to me!” The inspector’s back straightened. Oh, how he wanted to free the poor bolt, yet he remained powerless to do so. He spoke softly to the bolt, “If he was the one who imprisoned you, then he is the only one who can free you.”
“No! No! Please, help me!” the bolt pleaded again. He’s the reason I’m loosing Beta particles like crazy! Look at me!” He shook his head and off shot a cloud of sparks, leaving a hole in the side of his head.
By this time, the man had reached the inspector and the imprisoned bolt. Upon seeing the pitiful figure, the man stuttered, “W-what on earth?”
The inspector put a steadying hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are using energy-efficient equipment, aren’t you?” The man nodded slowly, “Well, yes. What else-”
“In his proper state, the inspector interrupted, “this bolt would provide plenty of energy to power your house for as long as you need it to. However, by using all energy-efficient products, you are imprisoning this bolt, weakening him into nothing. You are slowly killing him, I dare say. There is only one way to free this once great bolt on energy.”
"What way is that?” the man asked. He looked at the poor bolt, quivering in the corner, sparking uncontrollably.
“Switch back to normal, American-made equipment and products. Not only will the bolt be freed, but you will get longer usage of your appliances. Trust me: there is a way for man and bolt to work together, but it isn’t the way you are now. If you don’t change your ways, this poor bolt will be doomed to decomposition, as will be your energy-efficient equipment.”
The man looked at the inspector, then at the bolt, then back at the inspector. “How do I start?”
The inspector smiled, “I thought you’d never ask!” He pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket and offered it to the man, saying, “Cut the ties.”
-Chelsea Napper
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Chelsea is 14-years-old and is an honors student in the eight grade. Her interests include writing, reading, politics, aerospace exploration, and volleyball. She is currently the Treasurer of the National Junior Honor Society, Editor of her Junior High school newspaper, and the author of two novels in-progress She is a history buff and loves science and algebra. Her plans are to attend the Air Academy High School in Colorado Springs, Colorado next fall, and then attend the United States Air Force Academy and become a fighter jet pilot.
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