Service station.

A good friend of of mine just bought a service station. Not a functional, operating garage, but the kind of place that had once been an actual business, where people bought gas, got their tires rotated, chassis lubed, brakes done or a transmission rebuilt things got really bad, but now was a place fir the elderly owner and his even more elderly buddies to come hang out and drink coffee all day. Built in the 40’s, it’s the typical two bay shop with a separate office place that stood on every city corner . Now, a place for its owner to hang out, a place to keep that car that, if it were in good nick, would be desirable and have some value, but mostly a place to disappear for a few hours, to watch “I Love Lucy” reruns, and tell lies.

He bought it for a song, maybe because it’s in a “ depressed” neighborhood, or maybe because it was weeks away from a back taxes sale, but it came with all the contents, some of which are very collectible, tools and equipment. He spent a week or so lately scraping and painting, cleaning out trash, and finding a home for the shop cat that kept coming back after being relocated,not realizing his home had been sold and he had to find somewhere else to go. Much like the former owners 50-something year old, never-employed son, who, when my buddy showed me the place, like the cat, had come back, and was just hanging out, oblivious to the fact that the place was no longer theirs.

Happily, the tanks have been pulled, documented, and there’s a gas station across the street that’s open 24 a hours a day, who’s owners my buddy has befriended. They assured him they’ll continue to keep an eye out, like they did for the previous owner. There’s a house across the street, that has what seems to be a 24 hour a day party going on, but they too assured my buddy they’d be on g TV he lookout for the place too.

While I was there, a guy pulled up in a new Lincoln, and the driver asked my buddy if he would do some work on his truck, which he said his kids had let go to seed while he was incarcerated.

“Money ain’t no problem”. The guy said, and also offered to keep an eye on the place, and seemed to appreciate it when my buddy told him he wasn’t going to open a repair facility, but was going to store his cars there.

The strip club down the street offers a lunch buffet and discreet parking in the rear, so there’s a place to go for entertainment for gentlemen nearby when hanging out at the garage gets old, and we get thirsty and hungry.

It’s the kind of place that lots of guys my age would love to have. A place to keep our toys, a place our friends can come and hang out, a place to keep our stuff. a garage, a museum, a gathering place.

I admit, I’m bit jealous.