|
 Remember
the song, “Where Have all the Flowers Gone” by Pete Seeger? Groups
like “Peter, Paul and Mary” and “The Kingston Trio” sang it as an
anti-war anthem. Well, I’m bringing back the tune and changing the
words to “Where Has all the Service Gone?
It seems to me that when we lost the people that provided services
for us to make our lives more dignified, the world became a bitter
place.
Take the service stations. Back in the 1960’s, Dad would pull up to
the pump and get a fill up…. or perhaps $2.00 worth of gasoline. All
the windows would be washed, the tires, air pressure, oil, radiator,
and water levels were checked as the attendant filled the tank. It.
Was. Awesome.
Try to get someone to put air in your tires today. I miss the days
of yore. I loved stopping and watching the guy maintain the car. Dad
and Mom were very strict that we gave him total respect. How I
wanted to mimic their actions and pretend I was washing the windows
from the inside. One look from either parent was enough to put an
end to those thoughts. How was it that a sidewise glance from a
parental figure put the fear of God in us? Today kids totally ignore
or disregard their parents. The old joke, “If I had spoken to my
parents the way kids do nowadays, I wouldn’t be here to write this”
is true.
And, and…..to make it even better; some service stations gave green
stamps! You got so many stamps per dollar. They were called trading
stamps. Fill in enough books and you could trade them in for
wonderous things. Lamps, toys, appliances and so on. It was great
fun. There were S&H Green Stamps, Top Value Stamps, Gold Bond
Stamps, Plaid Stamps, etc. Grocery stores and department stores gave
them out as well as the gas stations. It was a great ploy to bring
in repeat customers.
I also remember the big department stores having elevator operators.
They were dressed in cute little uniforms with a miniature hat and
gloves. You would tell them what floor you wanted, and they closed a
gate between you and the door, pulled some magic levers and pushed
charming buttons. The floors would be called out in an authoritative
manner over the soft music playing from a speaker. The ritual would
be repeated in reverse, and you would majestically leave the
elevator because everyone was treated with respect and dignity. Now
we clamor in like cattle, refuse to look at each other, push a
button, and pray we get off without being mugged.
I like this quote from the internet, “Be like an old-fashioned
elevator operator: Always keep your head up, handle your own ups and
downs, make sure everyone else has a smooth ride to the top, even if
you sometimes stop for the weirdos.”
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I remember loving the ladies that checked out our groceries. Not
only did they punch in the amount of each can or box, but they also
carried on a conversation with Mom or us kids. It was a great
adventure. I knew the ladies by name at the different grocery stores
where Mom shopped and thought each of them wonderous and beautiful.
Then there was always someone who would push your cart of groceries
out to the car and put them into the trunk for you.
How I loved getting new shoes. You would sit in a leather chair and
put your foot up on a slanted stool where the clerk was perched.
Your foot would be measured lengthwise and for the width. This
procedure would be done while you were seated and while you were
standing up to make sure you got the proper fit. We always were sure
to take baths and have clean socks on before shopping for new shoes.
It would be humiliating not to do so. Of course, I must mention some
stores x-rayed your feet so you could see your bones and get the
perfect fit. Oh my. Not everything was for the better in the olden
days. It’s a wonder some of us don’t have feet that glow in the dark
today.
When I was a child and the television broke, Mother called a
repairman. He came with a ginormous black box that opened into a
million compartments. There were tubes, wires, fuses, soldering
iron, fuses, capacitors, resistors and other mysterious objects. It
was fascinating to watch our TV being repaired.
“A man calls a TV repairman because his TV has stopped working. The
repairman arrives, walks over to the television, and gives the side
of the cabinet a solid, calculated kick. Instantly the picture comes
on perfectly. The repairman hands the homeowner a bill for $50.00.
The homeowner is outraged. ‘Fifty dollars? All you did was kick the
Tv! I’m not paying $50.00 for a kick!’ The repairman nods and takes
back the bill. He writes up a new one and hands it to the homeowner.
Kick: $1.00. Knowing where to kick: $49.00.”
Most of our appliances are disposable. Nothing works like the old
Coppertone, Avocado green, or Harvest gold fridges of the ‘70’s.
They will outlive all us Boomers and everyone we love.
I have a son that is rather an introvert. Every family has one. Mine
wanted to be the guy in the yellow booth in the middle of the
grocery store parking lot printing out photographs. You could drive
by and drop off a roll of film, then later drive back and pick it
up. That yellow envelope of newly developed photographs was a
thrilling thing to hold in your hand. My boy thought working alone
with people just driving by yet making them happy would be a great
way to make a living.
Let me end this column as I began it…with a song, “Those were the
days, my friend, we thought they’d never end.” Mary Hopkins. |
