My career as a “gas pump jockey” lasted for perhaps five years off and on. Dad owned gas stations going back to 1963, and even as a 9-year-old boy, I helped him by sweeping and picking up trash. Placing a red shop rag in my rear pocket made me think I was in the big leagues.
Back then, when a car rolled up and rang the driveway bell, pump jockeys were told to be prompt and courteous, checking the oil and washer fluid, including washing all windows and headlights. I was taught to never lean on a customer’s automobile like Gomer and Goober did in the Andy Griffith television series.
It wasn’t until I was tall enough to clean a vehicle windshield that I was allowed to pump gas. Even then, a small portable step was used to make sure I could reach the center. Sixty years later — I still have that problem.
I enjoyed the work and developed social skills in being able to interact with customers. Early on, I learned that the majority of people are nice, yet some were born to be disrespectful and rude. Over time, I learned how to deal with those difficult types.
Four young Army soldiers came roaring in one morning, with the driver telling me to, “Fill’er up.” After doing so and telling him the dollar amount, the fellow informed me that he’d only asked for two dollars. Not knowing how to handle the situation, I begrudgingly let the guy drive away. Informing my boss about what happened, Louis said that next time it occurred to let him know.
Several weeks later, the soldier was back. I had forewarned my supervisor, and he watched stealthily out of sight from behind a garage window. When the fellow tried to pull the same stunt, Louis slowly walked out and asked what the problem was. The driver gave him the same lie as he’d given me, with my boss smiling and saying that it could be easily fixed. “Just pull in this stall and I’ll drain the extra fuel out.”
Of course, the military man knew that his tank was about to be totally emptied, so he coughed up the extra cash. I never saw that creep again. Not to be critical of young and broke Army personnel, on another occasion, a soldier came in and had me check the air in his tires. Before leaving, he handed me a five-spot as a tip. That was the only time someone gave me a gratuity for one of my “assigned duties,” as Dad called it.
One time, a guy walked up saying that he was out of gas. I lent him the shop’s gas can, and he never returned it. I was the one getting chewed out for that mistake by being too trusting.
From then on, a driver’s license was requested beforehand and then returned when the borrower brought the can back. Surprisingly enough, a fellow once said that he had no license as it had been revoked. I asked for his watch, which he complained about, and then disgustedly left it as collateral.
There was an older man who constantly stopped by to have me check tire pressures. He was also a constant complainer, pointing to the tiniest smudge I’d missed after squeegeeing his windshield. I cringed each time I saw his truck approaching.
A day arrived when I was prepared for his sorry hide. Keeping a rusty nail on top of the gas pump, after he gave me criticism about something I no longer remember, that nail was strategically placed in front of one of his rear tires. After he drove away, the nail was no longer visible.
The following morning, he came in for air, with it being the same tire that I’d spiked. This routine went on for several days until he finally asked to have it checked for a leak. I was fortunate enough to do the tire repair, and it was a pleasure to perform this job, or at least I thought it was.
This truck had split-ring rims, which meant hand tools were needed to remove the tire and tube. During the process, a heavy metal bar came up and struck me square in the forehead. For a few seconds, I was knocked senseless.
Blood spurted everywhere from a large gash. I managed to use tape and shop towels to interrupt the flow, eventually getting the wound to stop bleeding. My late mother would call this “Divine Intervention.”
Despite the pain, I still smiled from start to finish, believing I’d gotten vengeance, and was especially happy in collecting payment for my trouble. Fittingly so, a scar still remains as a reminder of this unscrupulous deed.
That was the only instance I remember doing something retaliatory to a customer. I quickly learned to chuckle and let petty complaints roll off my shoulders like rain. A slightly modified version of the gas pump jockey’s motto sums things up,
“Some folks may be a pain in the gas, but always smile and say thank you when takin’ their cash!”
I like to write junk... 