Service Stations

How many of you remember ‘Service Stations’? Raise your hands. Well, I remember them well. They were places where you went to get fuel for your car, and the experience was very different from the one we have today. You didn’t jump out of your vehicle, swipe your credit card, and start pumping the gas yourself…oh, no. You would pull into the station, roll down your window, and wait for the young man to come up and ask what you needed. These champions of service were always dressed in spiffy uniforms, and they not only filled your car’s gas tank with fuel, but checked tire pressure and oil levels, and washed your windows. It was wonderful. As a woman, I always felt pampered. I like being pampered once in awhile. I like it when a man opens a door for me. It’s not that I can’t open a door for myself or pump my own petrol; it just takes away a tiny bit of the burden of having to slog through this world by myself. And, it connects me to someone else. I like that. It feels good to be served and to serve.

Today I’m talking about service for a reason. Beginning tomorrow, and continuing everyday for a month, I will offer anecdotes, quotes, and observations concerning service. I will, at times, be asking for your insight and input. This concentration on service will correspond with a blog tour that’s being done to promote my newest book, The Route; a novel based on my experiences delivering meals-on-wheels to a group of wondrous and wacky older folks, and the life changing lessons I learned from these encounters.

I’m looking forward to the month of daily blogs on service. I have titled the endeavor, Stops at the Service Station, and I hope you’ll join me.