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At A Gas Station With No Gas, Puerto Ricans Settle In For An Interminable Wait

Gas is scarce in Puerto Rico. East of San Juan, a station is due to receive fuel — but no one knows when the tanker will show up. Some people are angry. Others are playing dominoes.

Angel Valentin for NPR
A line of cars stretches for a mile at the Gulf Route 65 gas station in Rio Grande, Puerto Rico, as people wait for a gasoline tanker, scheduled to arrive with fuel sometime Monday.

In a tiny sliver of shade, on a hill next to Puerto Rico’s Route 65, Kiara Rodriguez de Jesus waves a sparkly pink hand fan to keep cool.

“I trust in God,” she says. “Please, come the gas.”

Along with her family, parked in a Volvo SUV, she has been in line for gasoline since 3 a.m., she says. Now it’s after 1:30 p.m. And like everyone else at this gas station, she has no idea how much longer she’ll be waiting.

Limited availability of gas has been a problem across Puerto Rico ever since Hurricane Maria hit last week. This station in Rio Grande, about 15 miles east of San Juan, doesn’t have any gasoline at all right now. But it did have gas on Sunday night — until it ran out early Monday morning.

Angel Valentin for NPR
Kiara Rodriguez de Jesus, (left) 23 — with friend Stephanie Norat, 26 — finds shade during her family’s 10-plus-hour w

By the afternoon, about a hundred cars, along with scores of people with hand-held gas cans, were waiting for a new tanker to arrive.

“The problem is communication,” says the manager of the Gulf Route 65 gas station, Carlos de Armas. “We don’t know where the truck is.”

Like nearly everywhere on the island, Rio Grande lacks cellphone service. There is no way to get word from the truck driver, and so it’s anyone’s guess when the tanker might arrive.

“I’ve been here for six hours,” says Cindy Algarín, near the front of the line. “I’ll wait six hours more.” In fact, she has waited so long she has lost count — it has been closer to nine hours. She has been here since the station ran out of gas at 5 a.m.

Angel Valentin for NPR
Gas station manager Carlos de Armas says, “The problem is communication. We don’t know where the truck is.”


“I’ll stay maybe until tomorrow,” she says. “Just bring a little blanket and a pillow.” She laughs, but it’s not clear if she is joking. “I don’t want to leave,” she says. “We’re too close to getting gas. I don’t want to leave.”

Algarín wants fuel for her car so that she can travel in case of an emergency. She is in the separate line for people with hand-held gas cans — she doesn’t need much, after all. “I don’t really drive any more,” she says. She means since the hurricane hit. “There’s no work, I don’t have to take my kid to school. Like, there’s nothing else to do.”

Many other people in line need fuel for generators, the primary source of power on the island after the electrical grid was knocked out in the storm. Algarín’s sister Sarah, standing beside her in line, says people need fuel “just to survive.”

Angel Valentin for NPR
People have been waiting in line inside cars and on foot with gas canisters since before sunrise on Monday in Rio Grande, Puerto Rico.

Authorities in Puerto Rico say there isn’t a gas shortage. Instead, they say that distribution has been disrupted by the storm. At least one official has urged residents to buy fuel only in case of emergencies.

Alfred Rodrigo Maldorado is frustrated with the official response — not just to the gas problem, but to the disaster in general. He says he can’t see Puerto Rican officials or police doing anything to help.

Yes, the storm was strong, he says in Spanish, standing by the useless pumps.

“This is historic,” he says. “But what’s really historic is the absence of our government.”

Maldorado is angry, and he is not alone. Many people in this line are just exhausted. But nobody seems to be giving up.

In a shady spot right next to a pump, Jose Santiago, Edith Castro, Julia Rivera and Hector Flores were passing the time with ease.

They didn’t know one another until early Monday morning when they met in line. Castro brought a folding table with her. They set it up, pulled out dominoes and started to play.

Eight hours later, they were still going strong. Santiago said he and Castro were winning; Rivera said he and Flores were ahead.

No matter. They laugh and groan as the game continues.

Santiago says he is not going anywhere. He just had sandwiches for lunch. And if gas doesn’t arrive by dinnertime, his wife will come drop off rice and chicken for him.

“Oh, I’m staying. I’m gonna stay,” he says. And his spot in line?

“I’m at the front.”

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