Evening star., 1942-01-16

q
Henry MeLenere. country the fill
ing station operators are content
to be courteous and eficient, in the
South all customers are greeted with
warm enthusiasm, and loving care
is lavished upon them and their
automobiles until they pull away
to shouts Of "Y'au hurry back.
Come back to see us, now"
Down here all filling station pro-
prietors picture themselves as hav-
ing goatees and wearing broad
brimmed black hats and string ties.
To them. the ethyl pumps are not
pumps but magnolia trees, and they
look upon their stations as mellowed
old plantation mansions.
When a car approaches for serv-
Ice, you can almost hear them say
to themselves:
"A visitor from the Nawth." And,
"let us show him that Southern
people know how to entertain"
When they ask you if you need
gasoline. they ask 1t az if they were
asking you II you wanted q mint
julep. When they direct you to the
air hose, 1t is done with q gracious
ness that makes you feel as If they
were showing you to the guest room,
where log burned in the fireplace.
a touch Of brandy was close at hand
and an old retainer stood ready to
lay out your clothes.
The changing of oil is a cere-
mony that makes you feel as if any
moment hog jowl and black-eyed
peas will be served you, and you
have feeling that If you asked for
a grease job you'd be entertained for
two weeks.
Just to drive into station in
these parts and ask for a free road
map is to be treated like q prodigal
son. AS you pull to halt, innu-
merable lackeys attack your car
from all angles. One rubs the right
side OF your windshield. Another
rubs the left side. Two more start
shining the tenders and hood Be-
fore you know it, your car is covered
with attendants and bears q close
resemblance to a crumb in an ant
hill. Occasionally 18th helper
will dash out with a garden hose
and start washing the car.
! 1t taxes man of courage and in
finite poise to accept all of this over
whelming service and then drive out
without having spent penny.
Mind you. this is what my North
ern friends tell me. and undoubtedly
it is true. But my own experiences
have been different. Not only in
filling stations below the Mason
Dixon line, but above it and on both
sides of it. If have any genius. it
lies in an ability always to select a
filling station where 1 the owner
has stepped out for a few minutes
and left helpless female relative
in charge, ~ the owner and the
helpless female relative have stepped
out and left a small and thor
oughly bewildered child in charge,
90 where the whole family has
stepped out and left Sambo, who
usually just cleans up. in charge.
The result Is that always fill my
own gasoline tank. test my own oil.
put air in my tires, and clean off
my own windshield. The helpless
females assure me that they haven't
any idea where gasoline goes into a
car; the child is unable to reach
where 1t goes in; and Sambo is not
to be trusted.
trusted Sambo down in Ala
bama once and I was in the filling
station six hours. Sambo dropped
the top of my gasoline tank into
the bottom of a gasoline pump.
Sambo f1shed for it for an hour or
so. 1 fished for it for an hour or SO,
and small children from the neigh
borhood, who were recommended as
good little hands at finding things
were held by their heels and low
cred into the tank. All to no avail.
The tank finally had to be dis
mantled before the top could be
recovered.
But I'll say this: Sambo, the chill
dren, and all those who co-operated.
were gracious and friendly and
gave the general impression that
they hadn't had such a good time In
years. Maybe my friends are right.
distributed by McNausht Syndicate. Inc)