A couple of weeks ago I drove through New England. I loved the small towns, large trees, wide rivers, and narrow roads. I loved the people. I spent a few hours in Kennebunkeport, Maine, enjoying the drive, the water, the shops, and had a glass of wine while sitting on an outdoor patio overlooking an inlet filled with boats.
As I was leaving the area I realized I needed to fill up with gas before heading into New Hampshire. I pulled into a small gas station in Wells, Maine. It immediately reminded me of the stations from my childhood; there was no convenience store nor car wash. Instead, I saw a small office and a two-bay garage. As I got out of the car, I noticed the three pumps were old... and there was no place near the pumps to pay by credit card. As I debated whether I should pump first or pay first, a man came out of the small office, opened my gas tank, lifted the hose handle and started pumping the gas.
Stunned, I said "you still do that?" He just replied "Yup." Once the gas was flowing on automatic, he walked to the front of my car and began washing my windshield. I tried to keep my jaw from dropping too far. I hadn't seen that since the early sixties! I asked "Have you always lived in this area?" "Yup" He said again. Trying once more to make conversation, I said "It's a beautiful area." To this, I got a longer reply; "Used to be... til they ruined it."
I assumed "they" were tourists, and since I was obviously one of those, I decided it was in my best interest to not pursue the matter. I handed him my debit card, and he went into the office and ran it through a manual sliding credit card processor. The office could not have changed much in fifty years. Auto parts and supplies were crammed into every possible nook.
I would have loved nothing more than to take pictures, and sit down and have a conversation with this man who still provided a full-service gas station. But something told me he would not be amenable to it at that time. I think I'd probably have to live there a few years and gas up there every week before he would accept me enough to have a full conversation with me.
Still, the memories it brought back – of my Dad pulling into his favorite Esso station and saying "Gimmee a coupla dolla's worth", and having the windshield washed and the water and oil checked – made me smile and remember more instances of service that have changed over the years.
While buying gas doesn't seem like the kind of story we'd write for our children and grandchildren, we need to remember that in this age of self-service, technology, and debit cards, most of them have never seen someone come out and pump our gas for us.
When writing your life stories, don't forget to add the simple details we used to take for granted, but that are now things of the past. They may be minor changes - but they're sill major memories.