Air.
I paid 75 cents for air today.
I can hear my father’s voice coming down from heaven, “you did what?”
So I admit it.
A tire was a little low, and there wasn’t time to get it checked out. I pulled up to the service station air pump, and was greeted by a coin slot and the price. Used to be air was free. Now even air has its price.
Where were three quarters when I needed them?
So I parked, walked into the station and asked for change for $1 to use the air pump. The lady behind the counter gave me this little grin. You know the one where the two of you both know that you’re sort of a sucker.
This wasn’t four quarters for the quarters’ only parking meter. I wasn’t going to hear the clunk of a cold can of soda come through a vending chute. A DVD wasn’t coming my way.
No, instead three minutes of air.
Now as far as I know, it’s good air. U.S. grade A 100 percent pure air.
I remember the first time I ever paid for water in a bottle. It was in Israel in 1988, and even then, some three years after my dad’s passing away, I wondered there in Ben Gurion Airport what Morton Jacobs would say if he knew his son was paying for water.
My dad was the guy who knew where every nickel was spent. He was a
Great Depression person. After his passing, I found a book with notations from one year’s worth of expenses, down to the penny.
Getting back to the air. I only had one tire needing air. Took me mere seconds to fill it up. Oh, I forgot to mention that for 75 cents I also got a free tire pressure check.
Didn’t mean to sell this experience short.
Then two air pump issues faced me.
First, some kids on bikes came over to me. One kid’s front tire was dangerously low of air. He didn’t have any money.
Would I let him have some of my air?
I probably had two minutes left on the air machine.
So I gave him some air, but there was only one catch.
I had to do the pumping, because, after all, this was…my air.
Tire inflated, he said thanks and rode away with his friends.
While I was sharing my air with the kid, a man in an SUV pulls up to the pump.
The air machine was still humming. I had time left, man. This was my time on the pump. It was my air in there.
So, do I let him have the remaining minute of air?
He didn’t pay the 75 cents like I did.
Hmmmmm.
Meanwhile, time is ticking. I’ve got the pump. He doesn’t.
So I hand him over the pump.
He says “thanks.”
The machine stops.
No air.
I apologized to the man in the SUV.
Well, because air costs money, good money.
You can’t get such good air these days.
And at these prices?