EZPublications

Years ago, the filling station was called a service station. For 22 cents per gallon, you could drive up to a gas pump, a pleasant attendant would fill your tank or dispense whatever amount you requested (Give me two bucks of ethyl please). Then he would clean your windshield, check the battery, put air in the tires and water in the radiator. And to compete with the other gas stations, they gave green stamps or blue stamps. I remember collecting a whole set of amber glasses from the Mobil station in Dickenson, Texas. People went where they gave the trading stamps and the best service.

Now we pump our own gas at outrageous prices and pay for air and water! What happened to the real service that used to be offered at the gas station? (more…)

It seems like only a couple of years ago that I met Dave. This guy came into our store to show us some pieces of folk art which were ready for framing. We talked about the value of collectible art and the possibility of some appraisals and marketing for this body of art that his artist friend had created.
The customer and I just clicked, or you might say we hit it off. Within a few minutes, Dave was telling me that he was about to get his private pilot license. My mind wandered as he talked. I was hoping that he hadn’t noticed that for a moment or two I wasn’t really listening to him, but to the dream that was bubbling up on the inside of me. His enthusiasm for flying was rekindling a life-long notion that I had all but forgotten. (more…)