October 26, 2017
It couldn’t have been a much starker contrast. Pulling off the expressway, a guy in a big pickup truck gets right on my bumper, and when I slowed to turn into the gas station, he deliberately swerved into my lane, almost taking out our mirror as he roared past. A classic case of jerk. As I slowed to a stop at the far pump, an attendant lounging against the nearest one sauntered over and asked what I wanted. I told him to fill it up with regular. “Cash or credit card?”
“Credit card,” I replied, pushing it into the slot. He took the handle, unscrewed the filler cap and began pumping my gas. I can’t remember the last time I actually had an attendant fill my car. But that wasn’t all. He asked where we’d been, and when I told him that we were coming home from our granddaughters’ county swim championships, he asked which schools were participating, how our girls did, and cheerfully chatted, asking further questions as he filled the tank.
Years ago, I stood in those shoes, pumping gas for a living, meeting some of the most interesting people. The pay was minimal, there were no benefits, but it was honest work, and I think I did a pretty good job with it. Early mornings or late nights were the name of the game, and back then, we did all the pumping. Especially after almost being run off the road, this scruffy attendant made my day. He may not realize it, and his superiors probably don’t, but he is worth more than they are paying him. The gas there wasn’t as cheap as just across the road, but he earned my future business simply by making conversation and showing an interest in me. Kindness made a difference, turning what had been a bad experience into a good one. Thank you, Mr. Attendant, whatever your name. You made a difference tonight.
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