On Sunday morning about two weeks ago I was in Grants Pass, Oregon. I was going to be heading out of town on an old US Highway and I was unsure of how many gas stations I would encounter so I did what I almost never do in Oregon...get gas.
Oregon (like New Jersey) is a state where you are not permitted to pump your own gas. This was initially started as a public safety measure but after quizzing a "pump jockey" he said he didn't get any training nor did he require a certificate and his boss basically "showed him how the pump worked" in the first few minutes of his first day on the job.
So I'm at the local Chevron on a Sunday morning and I pull up to the pump and heard the "ding" of the bell that alerts the attendant. The older gentleman came up to the window where I gave him my debit card and said, "Fill'er up with regular please."
"Yes sir!" He shot back.
I noticed some commotion across the street. Several people walking down the sidewalk toward the Methodist Church on the corner. From the belfry I heard the church bell begin to chime. I looked at my watch noticing it was 9:30 and figured everyone was on their way to Sunday School.
Then something hit my windshield. It took me a split second to figure out what it was. A squeegee! The attendant was cleaning my windshield. What next? My oil level?
When the pump had stopped as my tank filled he handed me my receipt and told me to have a good day and to come again. I felt transported back in time and I must confess...I liked it.