Gas Station

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           Our car raced through a row of gas stations, each of which had six, eight or even ten red or white pumps. We stopped at one of them to fill our tank.
           A man in a striped cloth cap with a bill and striped overalls came out of a neat little building, in the big front window of which we could see all kinds of automotive greases and powders. His unbuttoned coveralls revealed a striped collar and a black leather bow tie. Wearing a leather bow tie is a kind of technical chic. He put the rubber hose in the opening of the tank and the gas pump began to automatically count off the number of gallons swallowed by the automobile. Simultaneously numbers began to jump on the counter on the gas pump, showing the cost of the gasoline. With every new gallon the apparatus rings a melodious bell. The bell is also technical chic. You could get by without the bell.
          This is where we heard the word "service."
          The tank is full, and we can keep going. But the gentleman in the striped cap and leather necktie doesn't consider his mission complete, although he has done everything that he can be expected to do, that is, sold us eleven gallons of gasoline, exactly as much as we asked for. The great American service begins. The man from the gas station (in America benzin is is called gasoline) opens the hood of the car and checks the level of motor oil with a metal strip with increments marked on it. If he needs to add oil, he brings it in nice jam jars or tall wide-necked bottles right away. The oil, of course, has to be paid for.
           Next the air pressure in the tires is checked. We kept the pressure at thirty-six English pounds in the front wheels, and thirty in the back ones. They'll let out extra air or, if it's too low, they'll add some.
           Next the striped gentleman turns his attention to the windshield. He wipes it down with a clean, soft cloth. If the glass is very dirty, it is scrubbed with a special powder. All this is done quickly, but not hurriedly. During all this, which doesn't cost the traveler one cent, the man from the gas station will also tell you about the road where you're going and the weather that lies along your route. Thus, all is in order and it seems that there is nothing more to be done in terms of automobile service. But now the traveler is softened up by service and he starts to think that the car's right front door doesn't shut tight enough. Smiling benevolently, the striped gentleman pulls instruments out of his back pocket - and in two minutes everything's put to rights.
           [...]
           All this comes free with the purchase of gasoline. You'll get the same service even if you buy just two gallons of gasoline. They don't know anything about differences in treatment here. Some little old "Chevrolet" and a perfectly shined "Dusenberg," the wonder of the 1936 car show that costs several thousand, both get the identical even, quick, calm service.

Chapter Ten: On the Road.