Service Stations
I fondly recall when "service" meant "service" at a service station,
When guys wore a uniform and exuded pride and dedication.
They always greeted you with a smile and friendly, "Howdy do!
It's good to see you! How can I be of service to you?"
While you sipped a nickel Nehi pop he filled the tank;
(You could fill it up without securing a loan from the bank!)
If gas exceeded nineteen cents a gallon, my how folks would holler!
In those good old days you could fill 'er up for about a dollar!
He'd check the tires to make sure they had ample air.
Why, he'd even offer to open the trunk and check the spare!
The windshield was cleaned of the slush and hapless bugs.
He made sure the wires were securely fastened to the plugs.
He'd always check to see that you had plenty of motor oil,
And open the distributor cap to check the points and coil.
If the battery and radiator needed water, those he'd gladly fill.
For all this service and the gas, you'd pay about a dollar bill!
Alas, times have inexorably changed, that's for sure.
Seldom to be found is the small-time entrepreneur.
Nowadays, stations are run by folks beyond the continental shelf,
And, alas, you must service the car and pump the gas yourself!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment