Skip to main content

Blogs

Gas Station Goodness

By Kristine Hayes

When I was growing up, my parents filled our car up with gasoline at a service station.

Not a gas station.

That’s because back then, service was more important than gas.

A smiling attendant — usually wearing a tidy uniform complete with a tie — would simultaneously fill your gas tank, wash your windshield, check your tire pressure and provide you with detailed driving directions to any destination in the North American continent.

“Canada? Sure. You’ll just want to just head west for about six states and then take a right at the light.”

You always had to turn at the light.

Go straight at the stop sign, but turn at the light.

Service stations also gave you maps.

Lots of maps.

For free.

These were no “1 inch=1 mile” scaled maps either.

They were life-sized maps.

Ponder that for a moment.

Service station maps came complete with a lifetime guarantee to never fold back down to their original dimensions.

Which was okay because in their unfolded state they were surprisingly versatile documents.

Pile enough unfolded maps in the back of a 1968 VW squareback and you have a reasonably comfortable mattress alternative.

And by reasonably comfortable, I mean good enough for kids.

Maps could be used as blankets, sun shades, rain ponchos, napkins and, on more than one occasion, toilet paper.

There was really only one thing my parents never used maps for.

Navigation.

Because dad didn’t believe in maps.

And mom couldn’t read them.

But it wasn’t the maps, or outstanding service, that built an unwavering loyalty to a particular chain of stations.

It was the toys.

Toys that by today’s standards would be deemed completely inappropriate.

Take Noah’s Ark.

Known today as a floating wildlife detention center.

Captained by a bearded religious zealot.

Noah and his ark probably created more customer loyalty than any other promotional giveaway in history.

Because nothing creates brand loyalty faster than a 3-cent plastic toy.

A 3-cent toy that provides parents with a brief respite from hearing a VW squareback full of children repeatedly asking, “Are we there yet?”

Instead we’d ask, “Is the tank empty yet?”

Every pit stop took on the aura of a Las Vegas gambling expedition.

Would this tank mean we’d finally be taking home the rare and highly sought after pair of hippopotamus?

Or is that hippopotami?

Anticipation would build as mile after mile rolled over on the odometer.

More often than not though, disappointment would rain down.

In what kind of cruel, out-of-balance Biblical Kingdom does Noah have 256 giraffes and not a single hippopotamus?

Thankfully, nothing promotes innovation like seven-year-olds with an overabundance of plastic, not-made-to-scale replica animals.

Trading networks were established to deal with duplicative wildlife.

Known today as underground synthetic endangered animal swapping syndicates.

Friendships were made — and broken — by trade deals.

Your parents don’t go to ARCO?

You’re no longer welcome to be a part of my inner circle.

This was high-pressure day trading.

Taking place on playgrounds across America.

Valuations had to be established on the spot.

“I’ll trade you two pairs of pristine zebra, a lion my dog chewed up and a headless gorilla for your slightly melted anteater, three trunkless elephants and two Oreo cookies.”

You always knew you held a highly desirable trading set when your trading partner included cookies as part of the deal.

If there was a cookie Olympics, Oreos would win the gold medal.

Nutter Butters would take the silver.

Nilla Wafers would be disqualified before the event even began.

Nilla Wafers may have identified as cookies.

But every kid knew they were really just crackers in disguise.

Animal trading sessions were generally pretty tame affairs.

I won’t deny more nefarious acts were occasionally discussed.

We all wanted to figure out a way to get our parents to service stations on a more frequent basis.

In our case, frequent meant daily.

Black Ops missions were plotted in the playground sandbox.

Unfortunately, the skill sets we possessed as seven-year-olds weren’t particularly conducive to conducting the operations.

It was the rare second-grader who had the tools, knowledge and ability to execute a large-scale gas siphoning campaign.

Or pull off a successful psychological warfare mission.

Like the time we decided to incorporate subliminal messaging into our daily routines.

We figured we could drop subtle hints to our parents about taking more road trips.

By saying things like, “Hey, maybe we should take more road trips.”

Subtle wasn’t our strong suit.

Our parents didn’t listen to us anyway.

They were too busy.

Trying to fold maps.

— Kristine Hayes

Kristine Hayes recently retired from her job as a Departmental Manager at a small liberal arts college. She lives with her husband, and their four dogs, just outside of Phoenix, Arizona. She hopes to spend her retirement writing stories and training dogs.

Previous Post

Coming Live to the Erma Stage

After Kim Reynolds' hilarious stand-up routine about the sandwich generation at "Erma's Got Talent: The Stand-Up Auditions," celebrity judge Wendy Liebman paid her the ultimate compliment.
Read More
Next Post

Who's Publishing What: I Buried Paul

Bob Spitz, author of The Beatles, says novelist Bruce Ferber "has captured lightning in a bottle, chronicling a generation’s obsession with the Beatles" with his newest book, I Buried Paul.
Read More