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296
win
June, 1951
could only have ten gallons . . . she'd leave her wedding ring for security.
Ben subsequently found out that Woolworth's had an abundance of "wedding rings," so it was hardly surprising that the girl never came back. But misfortune was the lot of another female when she called at Ben's station only a week later with an identi' cal yarn. One of Ben's boys stalled her until the police arrived. The woman's handbag revealed the twO' bit bands of a dozen "marriages."
If these characters weren't enough to make Ben eye wistfully the lion tamer's placid profession, there's also the customer who pulls into the station with profound distrust in his heart. He's the man who's grateful to his dentist for advice that he needs fillings. But when Ben suggests that a worn'out part needs replacing, the customer invariably rewards him with a stare of utter disbelief and suspicion.
Paradoxically, Ben finds the cus' tomer who automatically assumes he's being cheated is the easiest to win over — hke the school teacher who gets out of her car to watch the tank'filHng process. On this type, Ben uses the psychology of diplomacy. He gives her a little more than she's paying for. If this draws comment, he shrugs, "Oh, that's all right. The boss doesn't care if I give you a little extra." From then on she can't be beaten off with a club, ever hopeful that the "mistake" will be repeated.
LIKE most gas station operators, Ben has found it necessary to use subtle selling techniques. The general idea is to suggest to the motorist alternatives, either of which entails spending money. Instead of asking
"Shall I fill 'er up?" Ben queries, "Shall I fill it up with 76 or 7600?" Most men — especially those with girl friends at their sides — lack the courage to order, "Just give me four."
Ben checks the oil without asking, then shows the gauge to the driver. "You need a quart," he'll say. "Do you want Triton 30 or 40?" He then checks water and tires, saving the windshield for last. This leaves him in a position to chat with the driver about anything he's discovered wrong with the motor or tires.
You can't get rich selling gas at a gross profit of 3c a gallon. And to dispense 5,000 gallons a week, grosS' ing $150, requires the fuU'time service of one attendant. Ben's real profits accrue from the miscellany — sale of oil and parts, parking fees, wash and lube jobs and repair work.
Because competition is keen and customers are fickle, Ben never misses a chance to extend himself in the line of service. He's found that this pays off in loyalty, where a penny sladi in prices is quickly forgotten.
Shortly after Ben took over his Hollywood station, Reese Taylor, president of Union Oil, persuaded him to return as announcer for the company's new Monday night prO' gram. Saying nothing about his new career, Ben would grease cars at the station right up to the last moment, then rush to the studio for his broadcast.
One night Taylor and some Union Oil bigwigs came to the program. There was Ben Alexander, standing in front of the microphone clad in greasy overalls. The executives were baffled. What was this — television? After the program, Ben sheepishly ex