'Demonstrators' politely boiling over Aqua Utilities' water rate hike

Column

As recent and ongoing counterculture demonstrations go, Tuesday's Occupy Spartan Manor protest was far more orderly, polite, tidy and — to quote, quite out of context, Massachusetts Sen. Scott Brown, "Thank God" — hygienic.

We should not be fooled, however, by these approachable attributes and other defining characteristics. Never mind that they smelled better and lacked for bongo drums, piercings, body art and illicit drug connections. Like those comprising the flagship Occupy Wall Street sit-in, Occupy Spartan Manor claims corporations and government conspire to suck out the souls of working-class folks, all in the ghoulish pursuit of profit and power.

Significantly, however, unlike their counterparts in lower Manhattan, OSM members are able to assign names — Aqua Utilities, the Public Service Commission — to their frustration. And their remedies — someone mentioned tar and feathers — leave little to interpretation.

Another wrinkle: The demonstration — officially a hearing — was a variation on a theme. Ordinarily, protesters gather on the steps of the antagonist. In this case, PSC commissioners are hopscotching the state for serial lambasting by Aqua customers furious over the utility's second rate hike in three years.

Witnesses presented bills showing that, despite aggressive conservation, their charges rocketed upward. One retiree who hasn't seen a bump in her Social Security check in three years complained she "put a timer on her shower," then, turning her scowl on Aqua executives nearby, added, "Do you put a timer on your showers?"

Seasonal residents griped about paying a monthly maintenance fee during the half-year they're back up North. Fifty-four dollars a month "for zero gallons," said Bob Provost of Palm Terrace. Zephyr Shores' Bill Everett likened the charge to "throw(ing) money on the floor at Walmart."

"Push 'em back to pre-2008 rates" when Aqua bought the territory, Provost demanded. "They knew what they were getting into. If it's not enough, it's their problem."

And so it went.

The rate-hike process was "a scam" that allowed Aqua to operate like "leeches on society," serving only the interests of "golf-club executives" who go out to fancy restaurants and "dine on steaks." They weren't interested in customer service, but only in — here the witnesses fairly spat — "profits" and (ugh!) "shareholders."

And you shouldn't get them started on water quality. It stinks. It stains. It eats appliances. More than one said he wouldn't give it to his pets. Jasmine Lakes' Johanna Tole buys Aquafina by the case to make coffee. Tole's neighbor, Jim Moreau, sanitizes empty bottles of Arizona Iced Tea then refills them at a deep-well depot on Little Road. "Been doing it for 27 years," Moreau says.

We're for that. After all, it was our idea.

But then we're back to dramatically rising costs, with base charges that are far higher than surrounding neighborhoods. The problem: The arcane application of rate "bands," which allow water utilities to link disparate projects in far-flung geographic areas — Pasco and Lee counties, for instance — under a single request for capital spending.

"That's OK for electric companies," says Pasco Commissioner Jack Mariano, "because they're all part of the (power) grid. But how does an infrastructure project in Fort Myers improve the lives of the residents of Jasmine Lakes?"

It's enough to make your head hurt. Wait on that. The well-behaved members of Occupy Spartan Manor know you don't pop Excedrin until you've checked the fridge for store-bought water.