Texaco

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. One morning, a delivery driver noticed something peculiar on the Texaco parking lot—a mysterious old coin stuck in the gas pump nozzle. Curious neighbors soon joined him, and every day after that, someone would leave an odd item behind: a rusty key, a vintage matchbox car, even a tiny teddy bear. Finally, one day a neighbor left a tiny pair of glasses with a note: ‘For the gas pump attendant who’s been missing for weeks.’ Everyone burst out laughing, realizing there never was a gas attendant—just good ol’ Texaco self-service.

2. Late one night, a delivery driver pulled up to the Texaco station and noticed an odd sound coming from the pumps. It was like a low humming, almost like someone singing in another language. Curious but not alarmed, he got out to investigate. As he approached, he saw a tiny old man with a big beard, dancing around the pump and gently tapping on it with a small hammer. The driver smiled, thinking maybe the guy was just fixing something. But when he asked if everything was okay, the old fellow replied, 'Just tuning your gas, son!' Turning away, he added under his breath, ‘Gotta keep that rhythm going!’

3. Late one night, a delivery driver pulled up to the Texaco station and noticed an old man whispering into his empty gas can. ‘It’s not polite to eavesdrop,’ said the man without turning around, ‘but I’ll tell you anyway—it seems our gas cans have started talking.’ The delivery driver laughed and shook his head. The next day, everyone in town stopped by Texaco just to listen for themselves. It turned out that the old gas cans were simply chatting about the latest neighborhood gossip—nothing more than friendly small talk.

4. Late one night, a delivery driver pulled up to the Texaco station and noticed an old, dusty guitar leaning against the pump kiosk. Curious, he picked it up—it played itself when touched, humming an eerie tune. Smiling, he strummed along, and soon found himself playing a familiar folk song. The locals started gathering around, laughing and clapping in time. It turned out that every night after closing, the guitar belonged to a friendly neighborhood musician who parked his truck next door. Now, whenever someone needed cheering up or just wanted to hear some good ol’ tunes, they’d stop by Texaco for a fill-up—and maybe catch a serenade.