November 15, 2013--Midcoast: Bill In A Swivet

Bill came in all agitated.

"What's the matter?" Ken asked.

"Did you see this?" He thrust his newspaper toward us. He was fuming. I thought maybe there was bad news from the Middle East or something terrible happened up in Augusta. He's very political and ordinarily responds passionately to the news of the day.

"I'm not seeing what's got under your skin."

"Me neither," I chimed in.

"The story about Coca Cola. Not really about Coke." He pulled the paper back. "About the soda business. About what's going on with them."

"With them?" Ken was puzzled. "Let me take a look."  Bill handed the paper back to him and tapped on the page where the article was that had him all in a swivet.

"About how they're selling about as much water now as soda?" Ken read from the headline.

"That's my point," Bill said to Ken. "Terrible. Terrible."

"I really don't see why that's so terrible. You yourself never drink Cokes or Pepsis."

"That's not my point."

"What is it then?" I asked.

"That they, or anyone, would make money selling water. Water." He shook his head for emphasis.

"That's what got you so riled up?" his close friend Ken said, trying to calm him down.

"You know me," he looked toward me, the one liberal at the table, "I believe in making a profit. That's part of the magic of America. Business. The profit motive. All those good things. But from water? That I can't believe."

"True," I said, "it basically costs them nothing--the water's free--and they put it in a two-cent bottle, spend another two cents, if that, shippin' it, and then sell it for 99 cents. That's what I call making a profit!"

"I'm OK with those numbers," Bill said. "Again, starting businesses, inventing things is part of what made America great; but no one should make a profit from water."

Ken said, "They make almost as much selling soda. How much do you think the syrup costs? Again, maybe two cents a bottle. And they charge more than for water. So, I'm not seeing--"

"At least the syrup is something they concocted and have to manufacture. Water just comes out of a well or the tap."

"We do," I said, "pay tax on water both here in Maine and in New York."

"You know what I think about government in general and taxes," no need for Bill to remind me of that, "But the tax on water is to pay for the cost of getting it to you and making sure it's safe to drink. The town here and the city don't make a profit from it."

"Fair point," I conceded.

"But that's not what's upsetting me."

"What is it then?" Ken asked.

"You and I are getting on in years but have pretty good memories of the way things used to be."

"You can include me in that," I said.

"We still have a few years on you--"

"Just a few," Ken teased me.

"And we remember, don't we Ken, when it was illegal to charge for water."

"Illegal?" I was confused.

"Illegal indeed. If someone came up to your door and asked for a drink of water--and people actually did that back then--you had to give them a glass and you weren't allowed to charge them anything. Not that anyone would; but making it illegal was another way of saying that if someone was down and out, down on his luck, it was our responsibility to help them. Including with a glass of water."

"But the water they sell," I suggested, "is in the supermarket to people who don't want to drink tap water."

"Probably true for most," Bill conceded, "But by putting a price on it, marking it up so much, turns it into something other than being necessary to life."

"And as an opportunity to do good to strangers," Ken said. "Now I get your point."

"Me too," I added. "One more thing--what would happen if someone showed up at your door and asked for a glass of water and while you were getting it for him he smelling a homemade pie coming out of the oven and--"