Meter Madness One morning recently on the way to work I encountered a crew cutting little holes in the sidewalk and planting parking meters. That brought back memories from high school days of a summer job on the parking meter farm tending cuttings while they took root and grew to the proper size for the streets. Cuttings? Yes, you could grow them from seed but they might not breed true. They pick up pollen from wild strains or even now and then mutate to offer sixty-two thousand years for a quarter or else maybe fourteen point three nanoseconds for some coin not yet invented. With cuttings you know what you're getting and besides, most varieties are seedless to allow no chance for a half-forgotten meter on some deserted side street to go to seed, scattering to the wind to sprout in the most awkward places. Few things can match the fury of some quiet suburban homeowner finding his lawn infested with parking meters, not to mention the possibilities of interbreeding with fire hydrants, street lights, and newspaper vending machines. So now they use the seedless types and give them anti-growth hormones so they won't get too tall and the roots won't invade the sewers. Like, how would you like to get up in the night for a call of nature only to find, emerging straight and proud from the toilet bowl: "TIME EXPIRED"? I hear it used to happen and that's how they got the idea for the pay toilet. But that's another story, along with the rumors that they're working on new breeds for the indoor potted-plant market to replace African violets and cacti and catnip and even hanging plants (by crossing them with Salvador Dali's watches). That sounds kind of interesting, as long as no one comes around to give out tickets. Thomas G. Digby written 0440 hr 1/29/79 typed 0345 hr 3/25/79 entered 2325 hr 3/16/92 format 13:19 12/22/2001