Monday Memories—Gas Stations

Look at the price of gas today: $1.89! After complaining at $4.50 a gallon, it’s only right I publicly post a sigh of relief that the price has dropped drastically. When I gassed the car this morning I saw the self-serve sign and it reminded me of how gas stations have changed through the years. Growing up there was no such thing as serve-yourself gas stations, they were called service stations. As soon as you pulled up to the pump an attendant checked your oil, tires, washed your windows and filled your tank—all for the price of a gallon of gas.

We had two service stations close to where we lived. Hollister, Idaho, population 87, supported Dude’s and Monte’s. Dude’s was on one side of the highway and Monte’s was on the other. Our family shopped at Dude’s. I don’t ever remember my parents stepping foot on Monte’s gravel. However, one summer when my grandmother and aunt came to visit I went with them to gas up Aunt Cleo’s car. They pulled into Monte’s because the gas was cheaper by one penny—I think it was 32 cents a gallon. I felt like a traitor being on the other side of the road and hoped Dude didn’t see me and tell my dad.

I went to Monte’s one other time. Every Tuesday morning in the summer we went to Primary (a church program for children). Each child took a few pennies to Primary and put them in a box for the Primary Children’s Hospital in SLC, Utah. We had a Primary rule that you could not leave the church grounds, but the church didn’t have penny candy and pop, Dude’s and Monte’s did. However, they were down the road from the church and therefore off limits . . . and a sore temptation.

This particular Tuesday morning, (I must have been about five years old) I decided to save my penny and not put it in the sick children’s box, but go to the store and buy a little black licorice candy instead. When our leaders dismissed us for classes, I sneaked out the door and headed for Monte’s. Even though our family always shopped at Dude’s, Dude’s was on the other side of the highway from the church and since I knew I wasn’t supposed to cross the road by myself (and I figured breaking one rule was enough for the day), I took my penny to Monte’s. I panicked, however, when I got in his unfamiliar store because no one was inside. Monte must have been out back doing his chores so the store was silent, except for me helping myself to the jar on the counter. I waited with my candy, but no one came. I feared they would miss me at Primary if I didn’t hurry back, but still no one came to take my penny and I was not going to leave without my piece of candy—it had taken too much thought to get it. I waited a few more moments and then finally put my penny on the counter and started to leave. When I got to the door, I realized someone might take my penny then it would be like I stole the licorice baby, so I turned around and picked up the penny and got more frightened and confused on what I should do. Then, I had a great idea: I would put the coin in the bottom of the Reeses’ candy bar box. When the last Reeses was gone and Monte was ready to throw the box away, he’d find my penny. I dropped the coin in the box and covered it under a candy bar and hurried outside. The minute I hit the bright sunshine I wanted to melt and hide. I knew I’d done wrong.

I hurried through the crested-wheat borrow-pit back to the church and was met at the door by Elsie and Vera, two of our Primary leaders. They asked me if I’d been to the store and I said that I had. They asked me why, and I blurted, “I had to buy mustard for my mom.” They told me to run along and play baseball with the other children, but I didn’t feel like it. I felt so ashamed I went straight to the car, hid behind the seat and pulled my sweater over my head and waited till Primary was over. I didn’t play outside at home for the rest of the day, either.

That incident haunted me for years. Many times when we drove by the weigh station (which my brother told me had a holding cell in it for criminals and thieves) I worried they’d sense a thief in the car and chase us down so they could lock me up. I worried I’d get to heaven and Jesus would be ashamed of me and say He never knew me. Sometimes I could forget about the penny and candy, but then when our Sunday school teacher would recite some dreadfully, scary poem like the “Jabberwocky” I’d remember it all over again and wonder what hell would feel like. I never told a soul about my stolen licorice candy.

Finally, when I was seventeen I went to Monte with a dime for inflation and apologized and told him what had happened. It was a huge relief to let the air out of that secret. Somehow when I was holding it by myself it kept expanding, but the minute I told Monte it went back down to a size I could carry.

Last fall Calvin and I stopped at an old fashioned candy store in Montana. They had barrels and barrels of obsolete candy and I found licorice babies. I quickly bought a little bag, wondering if they were as good as I remembered. Ugh. Nope. Not only did I carry guilt for a penny for a dozen years, I spent a sin on bad tasting candy.

What’s the price of gas in your part of the world?
Did the Jabberwocky scare you?