A Sample Of Gas And A Trip To The Store

By Jack Kean

There was a time when cars were big just because they could be, and they rattled a lot, and 12,000 miles was the best warranty you could get. In that long ago time, gas mileage was never advertised and seldom became a topic of discussion, except when the local stations raised their prices one cent, and people drove across town to save that penny. It was the time of "shade tree" mechanics, when you could drive down the road and find somebody who could fix your vehicle with nothing more than a wrench and a little know-how.

Yes, it was in those times that on hot sunny days in summer we would sit out under a huge Magnolia tree and watch the cars go by. Now, there weren't too many cars since the road in front of our house was dirt and gravel, and it wasn't the shortest route to anywhere, unless you lived on that very road or had an inexplicable desire to see cows being milked. But there I would sit and play in a yard that was large enough for a small subdivision.

Those cars raced along the road at what seemed a dangerous speed, and each one kicked up a cloud of dust that inevitably would slowly envelop our yard. My father thought most of those folks were driving just to be driving and doing it way too fast. I remember him saying, "Just wait until gas goes up to fifty cents a gallon. That will get these speeders off the road."

I thought of that the other day when stopping by a gas station. It was the last day of the month, and I didn't want to put anything else on the handy charge card. The bank account wasn't flush so I scrounged around and came up with $5. That's right; I bought $5 worth of gas for my car. You can quit laughing now. 

I went inside to prepay as required and apologized to the nice Middle Eastern man behind the counter. "I'm sorry," I said, "but I can't afford to actually buy any gas so I thought I'd just get a sample." He laughed; I got my sample, and even though I drive one of the smallest cars in the United States, it barely moved the gas gauge.

If you ever lived in the rural South, you heard the following question many times, "You going to the store?" Of course, in the rural South it sounded more like, "You fixin' to go to the sto'?" Nobody actually went to the store without checking with everyone in the near vicinity to see what additional items needed to be purchased or if someone wanted to ride. And if you missed asking anybody before taking the aforementioned trip you would hear, "I can't believe you went to the store and didn't get me a Coke." Of course, you can replace "Coke" with almost anything available at the store from boots to bologna and crackers.

If you missed a trip to the store and really wanted something, you walked. We fortunately lived only one mile from the store so it wasn't such a big deal. Taking a trip to town, now that was another thing altogether. Arguments about who told who what before going to town could go on longer than the trip itself.

Even at $4 a gallon, I haven't started asking neighbors to pick something up for me at the store, but at $5 a gallon, you might just see me standing in the front yard with a sign reading, "Please get me a dozen eggs and 5 lbs. of flour!" Well, it would save on gas wouldn't it?

Jack Kean is the author of three novels: Being From The South Doesn't Make Me Stupid, Deadly Sacrifice, and What If The Winner Dies? Prior to retirement, he was employed in law enforcement on the federal level. He is a graduate of the University of Mississippi School of Law in Oxford. Jack is a native Mississippian, but he currently lives in Alabama, having moved there from Woodstock, Ga.