📰 When a Fill-Up Came with a Side of Friendship

By Mark Morgan

Back before gas pumps started talking to us in robotic voices about “insert chip” and “remove card,” there was a time when filling up your tank came with a whole lot more than gasoline. It came with service. The kind that smelled faintly of oil, sounded like friendly gossip, and made you feel like your truck just got baptized.

You’d pull up to the station, roll down your window, and before you could even say “Regular,” some fella in a starched shirt and a smile was already lifting your hood. He’d check your oil, top off your water, air up your tires, and swipe that squeaky squeegee across your windshield like he was shining the crown jewels.

All that for about a buck nineteen a gallon — and you got a “Thank you, Mr. Morgan!” thrown in for free.

The bell hose would ding! when you drove over it, and before the sound even faded, they were there — wiping their hands on a rag, ready to serve. You didn’t just get fuel; you got a full inspection, a local weather report, and the latest update on who bought a new bass boat.

The station wasn’t just where you bought gas. It was where you caught up on everything from church gossip to who was running for school board. Half the time you left with more stories than gallons.

And nobody was in a hurry. Those old pumps clicked slower than the town rumor mill — ka-thunk, ka-thunk — but nobody minded. You had time to chat, maybe brag about your tomato plants, and finish your RC Cola before the nozzle finally clicked off.

It wasn’t unusual to see the same faces every morning, just “topping off” what didn’t need topping. You might have called it idling; we called it community.

These days, you pull up to a pump, swipe your card, and talk to a screen. If you want your windshield cleaned, you’d better hope for rain. Nobody checks your oil, and the only “ding” you hear is your phone reminding you your card’s been charged more than your tank holds.

Now don’t get me wrong — technology’s fine and dandy. But I can’t help thinking the world lost something when it traded a handshake for a touchscreen.

Back then, your car wasn’t the only thing getting full service — your soul was, too. Every wiped windshield came with a smile, every topped-off tank came with conversation, and every “Have a good day” came from someone who meant it.

And I reckon, if we could all slow down just a bit, maybe we’d realize what we’re really running low on — ain’t gas at all.

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About the Author:

Mark Morgan is a children’s author and storyteller from Waldron, Arkansas. His books include “Rusty the Can,” “Petal the Seed Who Feared to Sprout,” and “The Web We Weave.” His column celebrates the humor, heart, and everyday stories that make small-town life something worth refilling.