The price of gas has put many people in that "someone should" mode, as in "someone should do something about the price of gas." The person saying that usually has no idea who that person is, and certainly not what they should so. But they should do, well, something.

It's as though we're helpless —- like the villagers in those movies waiting for Zorro to show up and beat the stew out of the entire Spanish army. Not that there are any quick solutions out there.

Indeed, I saw a sign on Roswell Road last week advertising petrol at $4 per gallon. We're still able to get our gas for around $3.50 thanks to the grocery chain that gives a discount if you shop enough in their store.

I wish I could recall what gas cost 40 years ago when I worked one misbegotten summer at a gas station at the corner of Roswell and Johnson Ferry.

I was 13 and I'm guessing gas was probably less than a quarter a gallon. The self-service concept had not come to the wonderful world of gas stations, so when customers pulled up my job was to bounce out there, ask how much they wanted and deliver the gas.

Plus, check the tires. Not to mention oil and water levels. And clean the windshield. If someone needed a map, I'd fetch it. Maps were free back in those days.

I worked Saturdays from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. and, after taxes, I was knocking down $13 per Saturday not counting the occasional tip. Before I started working, $13 a week sounded like great money. After a couple of Saturdays pumping gas in the heat and humidity it lost much of its appeal.

Nowadays, while I'm waiting for that mythical person to come and do something about the price of gas, I'm trying to cut down on how much I drive. I'm also motoring in the right lane of the highway at speeds a touch slower than other drivers.

I'm trying not to use drive-through lanes which waste gas during the wait for food.

And when I can, I walk. I doubt Al Gore is going to put me in his next movie, but you do what you can.

Maybe if we all did what we could, we could muddle through this gas thing with less anxiety while we wait on "someone" to do something.

Osterman lives in Sandy Springs. To comment on his column, write to Northside Opinions Editor Carla Caldwell, or go to Osterman's blog —- Around Sandy Springs —- at ajc.com.