I wish, before I begin, to give a few words to a winter’s Sunday morning in Lawrence. At 7:30 a.m., the town’s young revelers are all indoors sleeping it off, its more moderate citizens have not yet risen for church, and only a few in the procession of restaurants and shops along 23rd street are inhabited. One notices a profound quiet for want of something to notice. This quiet combined with the chill air gives one a sense of peacefulness, and I feel lucky to have experienced it on a weekly basis this year.

Upon leaving work one such morning, I perceived that my car was nearly out of gas. Because it is located only a few blocks away from my home, the Kwik Shop on 23rd street seemed the most likely place to refill. I made my way there, and as I did so, the quiet and the cold mellowed me. I started to consider taking a cat nap before I began studying for the day.

I arrived and stopped the car on the far side of the westernmost pump. I got out and fiddled around with the various buttons, switches, dials, and levers on the thing. Suddenly, I heard an inarticulate voice crackle in the hitherto still air.

Whatever circumstances the speaker wished to report did not preclude me from filling my tank. The locking mechanism on the pump clicked, I returned the pump to its place, and I went inside to pay.

I was met there by a thin young fellow who rocked forward on his toes as he loomed over me, smiling. On his Kwik Shop-issue polo shirt, he wore a name tag that read, “Jed,” and a cheap gold cross dangled conspicuously yet tastefully above the buttons of his collar. His hair was clean cut, and his face freshly shaven. We made the exchange, and the entire time his vibrancy and enthusiasm dazzled me.

I attended to the 23rd street Kwik Shop on my way to work almost nightly during the winter of 2003-2004. Sometimes I encountered the odd college kid trying to make a few extra bucks; most times I met a stern and solemn man in interesting tiger-striped pants who did his best to muster some form of courtesy. The times that will ever remain in my memory, however, are those that I was greeted by Jed, who consistently showed himself to be a model of quality customer service. I can recollect one instance in which he exclaimed, “Welcome to Kwik Shop!” upon my entry and answered my obligatory, “How you doin’?” with, “Friggin’ tired.” Although he may have been friggin’ tired, Jed always acted as though there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be than jockeying the register at a convenience store in some one-horse town and providing my standard fare of two Krispy Kreme donuts and a pack of Winston lights.

Jed, you command admiration. The world needs more people like you.