My senior year in high school, it looked as if it were going to be a bigger bore than all the rest. I had just turned 18, the weather was getting warmer and here I was with no job, no car and that meant no girl. On the rare occasions my father let me use his; I'd head to the local drive-in restaurant. I'd sit there ogling all my buddies' girls, not to mention their cars.
One Saturday morning while I was having breakfast with mom, dad, and grandma was there too; the phone rang. It was Doug. He was a friend whom I'd met in homeroom at school.
"Hey Troy, Jim just had a guy quit and walk out on him here at the gas station. He said he'd give you an interview if you're interested."
Brother was I interested! I hung up the phone and leapt from one end of the house to the other. Mom and dad had all the typical questions. How would I get there? What were the hours? Would it interfere with school?
I assured them that I would manage everything. As for getting there; it was a quick 6 or 7 block walk. Well worth it for the opportunity to get some cash, which translated into a car. After getting there and meeting Jim and the guys, it seemed as if he were almost running a shelter for wayward boys. Everyone laughed, joked, and teased each other like they were family. He offered the job and I accepted on the spot. He explained that as we were still in school, our hours would be in the evening. Two or three of us would rotate evenings working. The same went with Saturdays. He expected two and sometimes three in on Saturdays as that was his busy day for mechanic work. One lonesome guy would man the gas service on Sunday from 9am till 3pm. I was told it would be the most boring 6 hours of one's life.
I reported Monday evening right after school at 4 pm. Now this was back in the days of the true "service station". It was in my small home town so we knew 98% of our customers. Self service was just making start. We still had to walk out and unlock the pump. I believe at the time you saved a whopping 4 cents a gallon by filling your own tank. The local hotrodders would stop in and borrow a wrench or just do a burnout across the lot. A drive in theatre adjoined our lot. We were treated to tittie movies on the week ends. Silent tittie movie mind you, as we had no speaker. The owner of the drive in had his maintenance trucks serviced by us, so we all got free admission to the drive in. That did me one hell of a lot of good with no car! All in all it was small town America at its best.
After about a month there, I was made privy to some company secrets. If you worked alone in the evening, and a flat repair came in; you just didn't log it on the labor sheet and the 5 bucks went in you pocket. The same could be said for topping off washer fluids and master cylinders. One of the more entertaining secrets involved the ladies restroom. The women's restroom was accessible from the outside of the building. However it sat directly beneath an area where we stored paper towels, wash wands and stuff like that. When any of these items needed replacing at the pumps, it was a matter of going in the back room, climbing a ladder to the storage area and retrieving said products. I soon found out that by sliding a box over and looking through a vent beneath it, I had a direct view over the women's toilet. I spent a lot of time up there looking at a shapely ass squatting over the bowl. Sometimes we were even treated to a tit shot if they adjusted their clothes. If a sexy woman asked for the restroom key, it was not uncommon to see all the attendants disappear!
After several months of working and saving I managed to by myself a car.
It was a little black 67 mustang. She sure looked nice, but it was no hot rod. Where friends drove Chevelles and Roadrunners, I had to opt for a six cylinder. That way it was insured in my parent's name. But at least it was transportation. When school was out Jim allowed us to take turns rotating to working the day shift. We met a whole new clientele here. A lot of the businesses used the station for repairs and fuel. This is where I first met the Billingsfords. They owned a corrugated box company not far from the service station. John Billingsford came in for gas one day while I was on duty. He roared onto the lot driving a huge black Chrysler imperial. He shouted over his shoulder to fill it up wit super, as he went looking for Jim.
I did as was told. I even washed the windshield and cleaned the bug guts off his headlights. He came back, threw his charge card my way, scribbled a signature and roared off. Not even a fucking tip!
All the guys told me his wife was much nicer.
One Saturday night as I was preparing to close a beautiful British Green Jaguar XKE hardtop pulled up. I stood transfixed as an elegant lady opened the door and stepped out.
"I hope I'm not too late" she said
"No maam! I would open back up for a car like this!" I said
"It figures! I believe I could drive this thing naked and the car would get the attention." She laughed
I apologized profusely telling her we didn't get many truly classic sports cars around here. She informed me it was a present from John her husband.
I laid on the charm telling her that John had excellent taste in cars and unsurpassed taste in wives. She blushed as I complimented her.
"You're new here aren't you?" she asked
I told her I was Troy. I worked the evenings during school and now rotated around a lot. She introduced herself as Jean Billingsford. HOLY SHIT! I thought. This sweetheart can't be married to that old grouch John.