I went to fill up my car one day last week and paid my bill after the transaction with a quarter. That was just one more indication of how upside down the world is right now.
It was the same service station where I use a credit card to fill up every week or so. But the storm and demand for gas for generators and things like that knocked everything out of whack.
Hand-written signs taped on pumps indicated that credit card sales had to be conducted inside with the cashier before gas was pumped. Exact change was required for cash sales.
When I surrendered my credit card to the cashier, she said I could fill up at Pump 6 and go back in the store afterwards to complete the paperwork.
As promised, the pump was working when I got back outside. I squeezed the handle and got 21 cents worth of gas, about .0009 in gallons, before it cut off.
When I went back in, the cashier said that pump was probably out of gas and asked if I wanted to put the sale on the credit card. I gave her a quarter instead, knowing I would not get change back.
My problem, I discovered, was that I was trying to fill the car with a higher grade of gas than “regular.” Signs on other pumps showed that there was no mid-grade or premium gas.
The owner’s manual for my car is emphatic that it requires a higher grade of gas. But I eventually filled up with regular, and nothing has shut down or blown up.
Anyway, the whole incident of trying to fill up my car and paying just 21 cents after the pump stopped reminded of when I started driving in high school.
Gasoline was about a quarter a gallon when I got my driver’s license in the 1950s. That seems cheap, but it was more money than teenagers had most of the time.
Even when I had a quarter, it was hard to decide whether to spend it on a gallon of gas or a hamburger at the Dothl House that was so juicy it dripped down your arms.
Cars got better mileage then. My best friend and I were both dating girls from Taylor, Ark., seven miles away. We could put a gallon of gas in my family car or his, drive to Taylor, ride around with the girls a while and have enough gas to get back home.
We got interested in some Plain Dealing girls once, but that was 18 miles away. Even when we could afford two gallons of gas, getting to Plain Dealing and back to see them was cutting it close.
So we stuck with the Taylor girls until the night I gave away the Elvis Presley autograph.
We had saved up a few dollars and decided to take the girls to the Louisiana Hayride show in Shreveport to see Elvis Presley.
When Elvis finished singing, he signed autographs near the stage. The girl I was with begged me to get his autograph for her.
The line was long, and I crawled under seats to get closer to the front. Elvis singed my Louisiana Hayride program just before the announcer said, “Elvis has left the building.”
On the way back to my cheap seat in the balcony, a pretty girl from Springhill said she would do anything for the autograph. I gave it to her and found out she didn’t tell the truth.
We were in my friend’s Ford. I never realized how big the back seat was until I rode home back there by myself. The girl I was with got in front with the other couple and wouldn’t speak to me.
My friend said I messed up a good thing, because the Taylor girl he was dating quit seeing him too.
Most nights after I gave the Elvis autograph away and we lost the Arkansas girls, my friend and I just stayed in town when we had a little pocket change. We had greasy hamburgers at the Dothl House and listened to sad songs on the juke box.
My 21-cent bill at the service station brought back some good memories.
REPRINTED FROM THE NATCHITOCHES TIMES