The email started innocently enough, a message from a friend’s mother relaying a conversation: “My daughter tells me you’ve never pumped your own gas. Well, I haven’t either, I never will! No wonder I like you.” She continued, expressing her dismay at the dwindling number of full-service gas stations, calling it “a ghastly business.”
I couldn’t agree more. It feels like just yesterday that full service gas stations were the norm, a staple of the American roadside. Now, spotting a Full Service Gas Station Near Me feels increasingly rare, like finding a hidden gem. In recent years, I’ve personally witnessed several beloved full-service stations in my neighborhood vanish, and the chances of their return seem slim to none.
I admit it, I’ve never pumped gas myself. It’s not a matter of “never say never,” but… I actively seek out “full service,” driving extra miles past countless “self-service” stations, and I intend to continue this as long as full-service options remain. For me, it’s about more than just convenience; it’s about the expected courtesies, the small pleasant interactions, and a belief that society loses something valuable as these services disappear.
The closure of my local Petro-Canada, replaced by yet another development project, hit hard. Two decades of loyalty, gone in a weekend. While I understood the economic logic – prime real estate, high-value intersection, perfect for development – the sudden disappearance felt like a personal loss. The empty lot remains vacant years later, a fenced-off patch of weeds and pipes, likely waiting for the soil to off-gas before the condos rise.
Fortunately, at the time, a full-service station on Jarvis Street offered a lifeline, conveniently located near my hairdresser. Life adjusted, gas refills synced with hair appointments. But then, in what felt like an instant, that station too was gone, replaced by a fast-food burger chain. A third followed, near my gym – vanished. A trend was undeniable, something irreversible was happening.
“Regular or premium, miss?”
These words, once commonplace, now sound like a welcome melody. Having an attendant ask about checking the oil or cleaning the windshield feels like a valued service, one I’m happy to tip for. I’ll never again take for granted the sight of a gas station attendant appearing at my window with a payment terminal, braving sleet or wind that could rival a hurricane. Even on a sunny day, the gratitude remains.
You might be asking, “What’s the big deal?” Self-service is the way of the world. Twenty-four-hour mega-stations where everyone pumps their own gas are everywhere. It’s been this way for years. Get with the times. Everyone does it.
Even my niece does it. But then, she was raised by a practical, fix-it-yourself father.
I recognize my preference is old-fashioned, a yearning for a bygone era, perhaps fueled by a slight anxiety about fumbling with the pump and spilling gasoline everywhere. But is that so wrong?
Why should I suddenly be expected to master this task, especially as gas prices continue to climb? (Though, admittedly, price hikes are somewhat mitigated by simply telling the attendant, “Fill it up with forty dollars, please.”)
My real concern lies with the elderly and individuals with disabilities who still drive but may struggle with the physical demands of self-service. What happens to them as full-service options dwindle? It’s ironic to consider places like Oregon, where self-service is largely illegal, yet assisted suicide is legal under certain conditions.
I recall a story from my childhood. My mother, at our lakeside cabin, asked my sister and me to refuel her Pontiac Beaumont. We drove to the local gas station, proudly pulled up to the pumps, and waited. And waited. No attendant appeared.
The sign had changed: “Self-Service.” Realization dawned slowly. We got out, circled the car, bewildered. “We can do this,” we declared, with little confidence. We searched for the gas tank, completely unable to locate it.
Our mother, in her typical fashion, had neglected to provide any practical instruction. Finally, a kind tourist in a camper van, waiting impatiently for his turn, took pity on us. He revealed the hidden gas tank, cleverly concealed behind the license plate. He filled our tank, helped us pay, and with a grateful wave, we drove off, slightly humiliated but relieved.
Laughing all the way home, a real-life Thelma and Louise moment, minus the dramatic ending, but forever marked by our gas-pumping ineptitude.
While the humor in such anecdotes is undeniable, the underlying sentiment is real. The disappearance of the full service gas station is more than just a minor inconvenience; it represents a shift in customer service and community interaction. Finding a “full service gas station near me” is becoming a deliberate act, a conscious choice to prioritize service and perhaps a touch of nostalgia in our increasingly self-sufficient world. While self-service dominates, the value of full-service – the human interaction, the added convenience, and the support for those who need it – remains significant and worth preserving.
