HOM: Passing Gas

Don had been working at the J. C. Penney store at Karcher Mall, in the separate Automotive Department bordering Caldwell Blvd. He started out pumping gas and then worked inside as a mechanic. He got me a part time job there on the gas pumps, those being the days when full service was the norm. There was a retired sailor working there named Wayne, and he was a card. There was an older single lady who drove a big OLD car and stopped there regularly for gas. Wayne loved to tease her. He would whisper "See those guys in the car over there? I think they're interested in you." She'd turn red and then sneak glances at them in her mirror. Her old car had a quirk that cast it into the role of an initiation for new employees. When you lifted the spring-loaded hood, which weighed a ton, it would remain up for fifteen seconds or so and then slam shut, generally about the time you were stretching over the engine to grab the dipstick. Whenever there was a new employee and she drove in, the newbie was told to check the oil. It made a lasting impression on folks, in more ways than one. When young gals in short skirts came in, Wayne always made sure he was the one that washed their windshields, and really took his time to make sure they were absolutely spotless. He said that was one of the perks of seniority. Wayne was quite a flirt and quite a smart-aleck. I only saw him outclassed once. A sexy, skimpily dressed, young hippie gal drove in and asked him to fill the tank. There was a sticker above the gas cap that read "I trade ass for gas." When Wayne saw the sticker, he turned red and didn't say a single unnecessary word to her. He was absolutely businesslike and focused and did not even glance at her. When I accused him of cowardice all he did was growl at me. TBC (Me) (Blacktail Books)