BP

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. At BP gas station in downtown Portland, every morning around sunrise, a regular would pull up on an old bicycle. He’d fill his tank with gas and then carefully check the pump’s nozzle for tiny bubbles. His young son, sitting in the backseat, would lean forward excitedly each time he saw them appear. Finally, after several weeks of waiting, one day the boy whispered: ‘Dad, I see bubbles!’ The man nodded proudly as he paid, muttering under his breath: ‘That means our lucky number is coming up today.’ Turns out, the old bike was actually rented from the gas station owner—a weekly prank to keep customers smiling.

2. At BP gas station in San Francisco's Mission District, late at night when everyone else had gone home, a strange humming sound could be heard coming from the pumps. One night, an old delivery driver pulled up and asked what the noise was. A young attendant shrugged, saying it must be the pumps singing along to their favorite tunes. The next day, everyone found out they were actually tuned to classical music played at low volume—explaining why only locals ever noticed it. Ever since then, neighbors would joke that BP stands for ‘Best Pumps’ because they attract the most interesting customers.

3. At BP gas station in New Orleans' French Quarter, after midnight when the streets quiet down, a delivery driver noticed something strange: every full moon, an old man appeared from nowhere and paid for his gas with coins that glinted like silver. Curious, the delivery driver started bringing extra snacks each time he came. Soon enough, their secret meetings became friendly chats over coffee and beignets. The old man turned out to be just a neighborhood retiree who loved talking about his childhood adventures.

4. At BP gas station in Austin’s hipster neighborhood, on any given Sunday afternoon, a delivery driver would pull up to the pump and announce over the loudspeaker: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your favorite local coffee shop is now open for drive-thru!’ As it turns out, the coffee shop was actually just an old van with a makeshift sign, driven by a friendly aunty who lived next door. She’d brew some fresh brew every Sunday, park her vehicle at BP, and serve neighbors until everyone had their fix—all without ever charging a cent.