That air hose, laid out there inviting all us knucklehead teens to fill our mismatched Goodyears, meant something. In a world where everyone rightfully charges for every service, it takes me back to a different era. The beloved days of House's Market, and that free air hose for anyone to use, are both gone now.
Us broke kids could barely scrape together ten bucks for gas, so feeding a machine several dollars in quarters just to put air in a tire would've been unthinkable. Sure, we wasted more than a few dollars on Mountain Dew and rings for our jean pockets, but that PVC air hose was a beacon that kept us coming back.
Did a 60-gallon compressor and a brass air chuck really make that much of an impression on us? No. But the life and times that surrounded those simple days sure did.
In a world where it seems every part of every day is trying to get its claws into your wallet, the idea of "back then" seems almost idealistic. Subscriptions, streaming services, phone bills, cloud storage, warranties, and even security plans for our phones all seem to shave away a little more until not much remains.
Thirty years back in the rearview mirror, that Chevron sign was a welcome sight for two teenagers sneaking off in a Toyota with a dog box in the bed. It marked the beginning of another night well wasted, listening to the beagles burn the trails down. That red-and-blue sign towering over the parking lot witnessed some of the best local street racing of the day, interrupted only briefly by Alvin as he made his rounds in his constable duties.
Those pumps fueled many an ill-advised trip up Weaver Holler, Horse Lick, and a dozen other places we had no business taking our fleet of misfit vehicles. A sandwich from the deli would choke off starvation, and if Bill wasn't looking, Joann would make you one that required two hands and a little determination to finish.
No, that free air hose coiled up by the building didn't make or break any of us, but it sure filled a lot of tractor tires. It aired up its fair share of Honda 300s. It saved the old plugged Power Kings on my pickup more than once. At the time it seemed like an insignificant piece of the puzzle, but looking back, it quietly launched a thousand adventures of its own.
I don't know if that compressor and all that free air were ever paid for by our measly purchases, but they sure were appreciated. It was one of the last places I remember offering something simply because it was the neighborly thing to do. Looking back, that little air hose marked a point on a timeline that will likely never be duplicated.
What I'd give to have bottled up some of those days so I could uncork them every now and then in times like these.
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