Saturday, June 14, 2003
Well I know I haven't been saying much and many of my loyal readers are wondering why. For the moment I'd like to tell a story that I already put somewhere else on this vast website, somewhere so remote that it may never be view by a human eye (mine own not counting). A place where even search engines never go. OK, I'll admit it, I originally put it there on purpose.
Bridgehampton Mobil
When I was about 19, I took a summer job at the full service Mobil station in Bridgehampton. It was owned by a gruff old-timer who had retired to small town life from running big gas stations on highways.
We would have all kinds of celebrities stop in most of whom I didn't know at all, but one was Duffy, Truman Capote's other half, and a writer himself. A very nice man. Now the station -- right to the Southeast of the flag pole -- looks abandoned. It hasn't operated in years.
One day two drop dead beautiful, thin, tall 25 year olds drove up in a bright shiny volkswagen bug. They both got out and one of them walked up to my boss and said "pump me, please." He and I looked at each other, since she had not driven up to the gas pumps, but closer to the garage.
He said "what?" And she said a perky, "Pump me!" My boss said to me "Geoff, you handle this one." I was certainly gratified and a bit surprised. I guess he thought he better stay out of truoble with his wife.
What she really wanted was air in her Michelins. I obliged.
Miss "Pump me!" girl, if you are out there reading this, I know you are now 47 or so, but please drop me a line. It is always a good time to check that tire pressure!
Saturday, June 14, 2003
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