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The bright dashboard light confirmed the idiocy of not getting it done
yesterday. So after my usual java jaunt, I detoured from Monday morning’s
peak Highway 101 traffic.
As my tired minivan gulped pricey 87 octane like a desert camel slurping
oasis water, an older sports car in primo condition cruised in beside
me. A young kid behind the wheel brought memories of my first car —
a ’64 Pontiac LeMans with a cool eight-track sound system.
A gift from the world’s best dad, it had only 64,000 miles when purchased
in 1973 for $90 — nearly twice the cost to now fill up my tank. Its
weathered look was victim of summer’s ocean spray and salty winter
residue from snowy New York roadways.
While working at my uncle’s car dealership my first college summer,
the Paint Shop Boyz generously donated their talents performing an extreme
motor vehicle makeover. Three days later, “The Love Machine”
debuted and we spent the next five years together. Best trips were weekend
college escapes on Vermont’s country roads with its covered bridges
and colorful foliage for much needed “TLC” from my sister’s
family — only an hour away.
It was a familiar face that brought me back to reality.
“Hi, Mr. Weiss,” he said as he got out.
“Oh, Miles. Wow! Nice car,” I reacted.
I walked over for a “pound dog” knuckle handshake. A soccer
player like my daughters, we had talked at many tournaments miles across
California. I couldn’t recall his last name or if he even had one.
Like Ringo, Cher and Madonna, it was always just Miles.
He had a great sense of humor and a unique talent of rolling his stomach
like a 7.0-magnitude earthquake. I recalled his breakout performance a
few summers ago when receiving the coveted “Junior Lifeguard Camper
of the Year Award.” Chants of “Miles! Miles! Miles!” encouraged
him to lift up his shirt in front of the crowd and roll his tummy. His
act brought tears to many families — including his own.
“Thanks, Mr. Weiss,” he said.
“How’s school going and the music gig?” I asked.
He had just returned from a trip to Italy with his school’s jazz
band — “a great experience,” he exclaimed.
“School is going well. Music, too,” he said.
As he slowly went for his wallet, something prompted me to do the same.
More experienced to the draw, I whipped out my credit card and slid it
into his Pump No. 5 before he knew what hit him.
“Gas is on me today, Miles,” I offered casually.
“No way! Mr. Weiss! Wow! Mr. Weiss! No way! Thank you!” he said.
Just like the commercial, his reaction was “priceless.”
“Have a great day, Miles,” I said with a smile as I walked
back to my car. His reaction stayed with me all the way to work. I actually
should have thanked him. For a few brief seconds, I was a young kid again,
without the stresses of work, family and all the other benefits of adulthood.
Life had suddenly happened. Taking this quick trip down Memory Lane in
The Love Machine was the best ride I’ve had in a long time —
and well worth a tank of gas to a nice young man with the appropriate
name describing where his bright future will take him.
Frequent Beacon contributor Randy Weiss is still all smiles over his gas
pump encounter with Miles. Randy can be contacted at news@scbeacon.com.
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