Well Spent

WELL SPENT

Ours was the first gas station after exiting the highway and the first outside of the city. It was Monday afternoon rush hour, the second busiest to Friday. There was a line three cars deep at each island. All the grease monkeys had their heads buried under hoods like ostriches trying to hide from the chaos ensuing outside. A portly woman wearing too much makeup had been waiting and watching me run around with my pants on fire. Not a good thing if your working in a gas station. She had been there for at least fifteen minutes. All pumps were running so I made my way over to her.
“I know it’s not your fault but..” she said. She then went on to blame me anyway for having to wait so long. I took it in stride and gave her an occasional nod. She thought I was listening so I took the opportunity to have a smoke.
“So you’ve had this same tire plugged before?” I asked.
“Yes” she said
“Well where are you parked?”
“O’Neill are you gonna get her number or are you gonna do some work.” said Bruce. Bruce was currently running the pumps by his lonesome. While running a credit card he reminded me where I was most needed. So, ignoring him I went into the garage and finished my cigarette. I grabbed a plug, a reamer, and a jack and made my way outside.
“Mam, bring your car over here with the flat tire parallel to this bay door. I’ll be back in a minute.” I said
Returning to the pumps I got three cars going and collected cash from one other. It was winter and my hands were starting to crack. It made it hard to make change; anyone paying with credit card was instantly okay in my book. The pump popped at one of the cars filling up and to my pleasure she was holding a platinum visa out her window.
“Thank you, can you just pull up to let the next car in.” I asked.
“Sure as soon as this woman moves.”
The portly woman had backed up to the bay door blocking traffic from exiting the gas station. I went over and explained the situation to her. She decided to move after minor pleading and a few cars honking. I went inside to run the credit card and warm up a minute. In the waiting room sat an old man. He was a scarecrow of a man, his bulky winter coat barely hid his skinny body except for his dangly fingers and twig thin legs. He was muttering to himself and quickly glancing at me. Enough to let me know he needed help but subtly enough not to make eye contact.
“Sir, you okay? Is anybody helping you?” I asked
“Oh, no, but you're busy I can wait.” He replied.
“Well we’re pretty busy what is it you need?” I said
“Oh, I just need an oil change and a lubrication.” he said.
I giggled at the word lubrication for no reason. More for the fact that I had never heard anybody use it before. It was always lube job or just lube. Both amusing in their own right. The man was evidently educated.
“As soon as I can I’ll get one of the mechanics to service your car. It will probably be a while, if you want to wait. Why don’t you take a seat, there’s a few magazines over at the table.” I said
The man looked up and smiled at me. “Thank you young man. I don’t mind waiting at all.” he said.
“Excuse me but I was here before him. Is anyone going to help me or what?” said the woman with the flat.
“Excuse me mam, but I will be with you in just a minute so if you want you can sit over there and wait too.” I said.
I looked to the old man with a guilty shrug, he returned the gesture. After settling the credit card and starting the pumps on two cars I made my way to the lady’s flat tire. Upon examination I saw that she had already repaired the tire several times too many. I dreaded having to tell her she needed a new tire.
“Mam, I’m very sorry but I can’t plug your tire. You’ve already plugged it several times and it’s an accident waiting to happen.” I said
“Well what do you suggest I do then?” she asked
The old man was not hiding the fact that he was listening to our conversation. His eyes went back and forth to who ever spoke.
“The only thing we can do unless you want it towed is to put on a new tire.” I said
“And just how much is that going to cost me?” she asked
“I know we have a few tires that run for about fifty bucks.”
“Did you not notice that I am driving a Mercedes? I need a nice quality tire. Does a place like this even carry nice tires?”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. The gas station catered to high end autos. Every lawyer and Doctor that didn’t live in the city lived in this town and they all got their gas at this particular station. This woman was a walking contradiction. She owned a Fifty thousand dollar auto but had plugged her high end tires several times over.
“I’m sure we can help you out let me check the size of your tire and see what we have.” I said.
I returned with what I could only assume was bad news.
“We are in limited supply, but we do have one tire that will fit your car. Unfortunately it will cost $250. I know that is high but otherwise you will have to wait for one to be delivered and that will probably be an hour maybe two.”
“That is unacceptable; I will not be robbed by you. I have no way to get home and I’m trapped. I refuse to wait in this place for any longer than I have to. I want to speak with the manager Immediately.” she said.
“Right away mam.” I was excited because the manager was also the owner of the station. He was an old wiley veteran who was as good at selling women what they didn’t need as he was at smoking cigarettes. He went through at least three packs a day, and twice as many women. I introduced the woman to Bob as Mr. Foster; he led her back to his office and went to work. By the time he was done I’m sure she would be getting a full diagnostic test and an alignment to go with a pair of new tires.
“Well she doesn’t know what she’s getting into.” said the old man.
“Why do you know Bob? I’ve never seen you here before.” I said
“Yes I do. My wife usually handles the car business. It was a few times she came home with a hefty bill. But they do a good job here.” he said. That was true, despite any padding that went into their work, Bob Foster and his two mechanics could fix about anything on any car.
“My wife has passed though and now I’m taking care of things like that.” he said.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Has anyone looked at your car yet?” I asked
“No, But I’m fine, I think your friend needs help though.” He pointed outside. Bruce was waving his hands and trying to get my attention. I went out to help and worked the pumps for almost an hour before there was a break. I happened to see the old man talking to Bob at one point. I hoped that meant that he was being helped. The man was so frail I felt as though I had to keep an eye out for him.
“So are they taking care of you?” I asked when I came inside.
“Oh yes, I’m getting fixed right up. They are working on my car now.” He said “I was impressed that you didn’t loose your temper with that woman.”
“Thanks but I wasn’t so nice either.” I said
“You were nice enough. And you managed to help me along as well.”
“No problem.”
The man stood up with some effort and made his way over to me.
“My name’s George Templeton.” He offered his hand to shake.
I took it “I’m Joseph, Joseph Cavanaugh”
“Joseph it’s nice to meet you. Are you from here?”
“Yes I grew up here if that’s what you mean. So did my dad. John Cavanaugh.”
“Yes I know John; he sells plants to my wife at the garden center.”
“That’s him.”
“Your fathers a nice man too. He always took care of Mildred, that’s my wife. She passed away about a month ago.” He said
“I bet she was a nice lady. Do you work in town?” I asked. I knew it was a silly question as I was asking it. This man has probably been retired for twenty years.
“No, I‘ve been retired for about twenty years now. I was the Stage manager at the Boston Pops. I worked with many amazing musicians.”
“That must have been pretty cool. Did you work with anyone I might recognize?” I asked trying to keep the subject off his dead wife.
“Oh yes, I worked with Frank Sinatra. I worked with many people in the music business. Producers, conductors, performers, I’ve worked with them all.”
I told him how my grandfather had been a jazz musician. We talked about music and the city for what seemed like the rest of the day. We were only stopped by Bob Foster walking in to let us know that Mr. Templeton’s car was ready.
“I’ll come by tomorrow with some pictures if that’s alright.” Said Mr. Templeton.
“Sure, that’s fine I’ll be here.” I said
As I rode my bike home I thought about Mr. Templeton. I wondered if he would remember me tomorrow. Often Old timers forget things like a friendly conversation. But sure enough the next day he was there waiting for me when I came to work after classes. He had pictures with Elvis, Sinatra, Sammy Davis, and a cast of people I had no idea about. We shared another afternoon talking about music. Mostly I listened to him talk about his time at the Boston Pops.
He promised to visit again with more stories when he needed another oil change. I told him I looked forward to it and that I would bring some of my grandfather’s music for him to listen to. Several weeks later I recognized Mr. Templeton’s car on the side of the shop.
“What’s up with Mr. T’s car he isn’t due for an oil change for at least another month.” I said to Bob.
“Your friend there has died. His family has asked me to sell the car.” He said “Actually now that you mention him I forgot. He left this for you.”
Bob went to his office and handed me an envelope. In side the envelope was a picture of Mr. Templeton standing in front of the stage at the Pops. On the back of the photograph it read. "It only took but to listen to make an old man happy." I was happy to have spent the time to talk, and more importantly listen to the old timer. I can only hope that in the autumn of my years I have as good a tale to tell.