Here's to those of us who remember going to the "service station" instead of the convenience store that sold gas. Here's to the old "gas jockeys" who could pump gas to 2 or 3 cars at the same time and never overfill one of them. Here's to having someone check the oil, wash the windows, check the air in our tires just because it was good service and then added a thank you after his work was done. Here's to all the young men who's first job as a gas jockey taught them the value of being polite and attentive to customers. As a bonus, those same young men often met their future wives as they washed her windshield and she pretended not to notice him but seemed to need gas every day. Today, we pump our own gas, check our own tires, pay for air to fill them, stick our credit cards in the slot in the pump and drive off, never having to speak to anyone unless we want to go inside and buy a bag of Doritos and a power drink or get a hot dog that has been rolling on the cooker for the past 10 hours and then pay the sulky person at the register who thinks they are doing you a favor by taking your money. Please and thank you have been abolished from most people's vocabulary as surely as shame has been obliterated from our culture. The old service station reminds me of all of this.