I leave the gas station after my first shift with a stomach ache. Fumes. In 1982 leaded gas was still a thing. Regular, Unleaded, and Super.
I remember that first day. It was a trial run at a full service gas station on Linden Ave in my home town. My brother Pat and I were introduced to the job by a neighbor who was already working there. Cars would pull into the station and I’d ask what kind of gas they wanted and for how much. Then I’d place the gas nozzle in the tank and wash their car windows. Pretty simple and it wasn’t very busy, only occasionally needed to handle two cars at once. At the end of my shift, I met the owner and he remarked how good a worker my neighbor was - even for a small guy. I was arguably smaller.
Apparently I did well enough to get a job at the owner’s son’s station across town. It was next to the QFI my mom would shop at sometimes, leaving little me to wait in the car while she dashed to grab a few things she had coupons for. Those were different times. The son’s name was Charlie and he was maybe 30 and drove a Camaro. I’m not sure if he thought he was cool or not. I was undecidedly not cool so was unable to recognize his coolness but I did notice the lack of it. I did not see him at the station much, maybe he’d stop by briefly during one of my typical three weekly shifts. I’d find out what days I was working from a weekly assignment grid, on paper, hung on a wall in the garage. They made accommodations for my baseball and later golf team schedules.
The gas station years taught me many lessons. The first was “money is good”. For the paper route, I made maybe $40 a month and at the gas station I was getting $40 a week. This meant I had walk-around money for lunch at McDonalds or a drive in movie. I started at minimum wage of $3.35/hour and over 2-3 years made it all the way to a whopping $3.55/hour.
Another lesson I learned is that I really didn’t want to be nor had the aptitude to be a mechanic. The gas station had two repair bays and employed two young mechanics. They were both full of confidence. I got to do some simple work, changing oil and fixing flat tires. Change an air filter. Did not have the dexterity or patience to do brakes (shaving the drums, bleeding the lines, aligning the disks) or wheel alignment.
I learned there are all kinds of people. The oldtimer who worked the weekday 6am-2pm shift and started on his daily fifth of whiskey around noon. The mechanic who seemed like he would do anything for you but at the same time made it apparent you couldn’t trust him. This mechanic fixed up my car’s brakes for free only to have the brake lines rupture on the drive home (from the increased pressure of the new brakes). He also sold his truck to someone in a far away suburb only to steal it back a month later; or so he said. I learned from a fellow gas monkey, that when fixing tire repairs you do one for the shop and one for yourself. An extra $20 bucks on a weekend. I learned from the customers. A parent of a classmate without much money asking me to ignore the expiration date on her credit card. A couple of what we would now call “bros” coming in a bit drunk in their BMW with a cracked engine block. They had poured Beck’s beer into the engine block to cool it down. A cousin of the other mechanic who could sit in the office all day and slowly argue why Ford trucks were better than Chevy trucks. I learned to give directions to drivers many years before GPS.
Many times, I took the 6am shift on weekends which is a special kind of torture for a teenager. It taught me to drink coffee, first with loads of sugar and then just black. Now I get a headache if I don’t have my morning coffee.
The biggest lesson I learned was one of integrity. The lesson is to always have it. I didn’t always have it then. I’ve had it since. A man came by one day and asked for a full tank of gas and could I charge an extra $10 on the credit card and give him the cash. Technically, we were not supposed to do this but we did it from time to time so I did it. Then he came back the next day, and asked for $20 and gave me $10. Then larger amounts. Then I told him I could not do that anymore. He pressed. I held my ground. By this time, two other gas monkeys were helping him commit fraud. Eventually he was arrested and charges were also filed against us. The others were immediately fired. I stayed on knowing the only reason I still showed up on the weekly assignment list was we didn’t have enough workers. Then one day I stopped by the station to get my next week’s schedule and my name wasn’t on the list. The owner was there and I quizzically said “Hey my name’s not on the list”. “That’s right”, said Charlie. Still not cool.
For many years, I never talked about my gas station job. I was embarrassed by the work. I was ashamed of how it ended. Now I value all work and recognize what the gas station years taught me. Taught me the mental toughness needed for work.
Taught me the value of work even at $3.35/hour. Taught me that money is good. Taught me to value all kinds of people. Taught me it’s nothing without integrity.