Photo by Bill Stokes
By Bill Stokes
Kickass, the doorstop dog, reports the keeper renews his membership in the club of old guys who once worked in a “filling” station, by joining the chorus of “five—or was it six, gallons of gas for a dollar;” and asking for the gas order only after having washed all the vehicle’s windows, the headlights, checking the oil, and the battery, inspecting the condition of the fan belt and the windshield wiper blades, and checking the radiator fluid level and the air pressure in all the tires, including the spare
On one occasion, a driver stopped at the pumps just after a pheasant had crashed into his windshield, leaving an incredible mess of blood and guts, which the keeper dutifully cleaned off, after which the driver departed without buying any gas, commenting that he had filled up at a previous stop. (There was no such thing as tipping in those days, at least at the stations where the keeper worked.)
The keeper’s first filling station boss—Cliff Horstman, taught the windshield washing protocol of water-chamois skin-drying rag with great care, to the point that the keeper still remembers it, and wonders if there might be some way for him to make such expertise relevant in today’s world of $5 per gallon, self-pumped gasoline; maybe by showing Phyllis how he could shine up the refrigerator door–if he had a chamois, which he doesn’t so there that goes.
But thanks anyway, Cliff.
