When I was in high school, I worked at my father’s gas station. At that time we filled the tank with gas, checked the air in the tires, popped the hood and checked to oil level, and washed the windshield.
A guy used to come in every Saturday to get gas. He had a ’57 Chevy Bel-Air 2-Door Hardtop and he always brought his girl—the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I was 15-years old at the time. I would wash and wash his windshield looking at the girl’s legs. This guy was handsome and looked rich. He dressed a little richer than anyone else I had ever met. I always wondered what he did for a living to get such a beautiful girl and such a cool car. Finally, my curiosity overcame my shyness. When he was paying for the gas, I got up the nerve to ask him.
“Sir, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a chemical engineer.”
I didn’t know what a chemical engineer was so the next day I asked my chemistry teacher. When he told me and said what it took to become a chemical engineer, I figured I could do it because I was pretty good at science and math.
I was kind of what they call a nerd today. All the pretty girls went out with the football players not the nerds, but if this guy could get a girl that pretty, I decided to become a chemical engineer.
I was real poor. When I found out they were giving scholarships to people who majored in nuclear engineering, I decided to change my major to nuclear engineering. If it hadn’t been for that girl’s legs and nuclear engineering scholarships, I would probably still be pumping gas at my father’s station…except maybe I would own it by now.
Posts
