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First Posted: 11/10/2014
By Wayne Easter
Mt. Airy, North Carolina
Once upon a time, there was a small building down on the corner in everybody’s hometown. It had a single gas pump out front; a stack of used “tars” for sale, a water bucket, some cans of motor oil and a sign that said, “$0.29.9.” Another sign said, “Mechanic on duty. Flats fixed while u wait” and “Free air.”When you pulled up out front, you drove over a hose that caused a loud “ding-dong” inside the building. Our old friend Zeke, or Jack, or whatever the name came rushing out the door with a big chaw of ‘baccer in his jaw, a big smile on his face, a greasy rag hanging out of his hip pocket and wearing the oiliest overalls you ever seen in all your born days.
He says, “What cha’ need, Friend?” I tell him, “Well, Zeke, I got an important run up Fancy Gap Mountain today, so gimme’ two dollars worth and check that oil.” Not only does Zeke check the oil, he scrapes the dead bugs off the windshield, washes all the windows, checks the air pressure in the “tars,” tells me when it’s going to rain, who wound up in jail last night and how to vote. I pay the man and all the while, he wears a smile that reaches from ear to ear and tells me, “I shore do thank you, and you-all come agin’ now, you hear? (Now that’s what we’re talking about, folks, it was called service with a smile and Old Zeke? Well, he smiled all the way to the bank.)
Fast-forward 50 years and let’s do it again. First, you pull up to a big store building where they sell everything known to mankind, including hot donuts. There are a dozen gas pumps out front, but nobody comes out to wait on you, because the attendant stays inside eating donuts, and watching an old western on TV.
A big sign says “U-pump-it” and first thing you gotta’ figure out is which of the pumps you want to do it from, and which of three grades of gas you need, or do you want diesel? I decide on “Reg. $3.79.9. Another sign says to stop the engine, douse your cigarettes, and under penalty of law, “pay before you pump if you pay cash.” They want to know if I’m using a credit card or a debit card and being the modern that I am, I use a debit card. According to the digital readout, they are glad to have my business and I’m instructed to “please insert card for further instructions.”
Since there are only four possible ways to insert the card, after three wrong tries, I hit ‘er right on the nail-head and “remove my card quickly.” Then the read-out wants my pin number, my Zip Code, my grandmother’s maiden name and asks if I want a receipt.
After entering the wrong pin number twice, I nail it on the third try, and of course I want a receipt. Then it tells me to lift the handle and proceed. (“Proceed” means to go ahead and pump the gas, best I remember.) It’s a known fact that there is one particular gas pump at every location, where the nozzle clicks off if you try to pump more that a quart an hour. Lucky me, that’s the one I get every time.
I finally top off the tank, hang up the nozzle and wait for a receipt, and wait, and wait. I finally tells me that if I want a receipt, to go inside. I sneak a look at the price and almost have the Big One. $55.00? Why, I’ve made house payments cheaper than that and bought cars for half that much. I go inside, get my receipt and since the attendant has his mouth full of donuts, he can’t thank me, so I thank him and hit the road, Jack: thinking all the while, “Gimme them good old days when gas was $0.29.9 and I was King of the Road.