By Kevin D. Williamson
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Among the peculiar features of 21st-century American life
is the loyalty some people feel for particular chains of filling stations. The
textbook case is the Cult of Wawa, whose worship is centered on a
Philadelphia-area convenience-store chain and its mediocre sandwiches (I have
spent a great deal of time among the Wawarians). In my home state of Texas, the
locus of devotion is Buc-ee’s, a chain offering an aquatic-rodential theme and
the promise of the cleanest roadside bathrooms across the fruited plain.
Ezra Pound detested billboards, complaining that every
time a fine highway was built “some foetid spawn of the pit puts up a 30-foot
wooden advertisement of synthetic citronade to defile man’s art in road-making
and the natural pulchritude of the vegetation.” The natural pulchritude of the
vegetation is less of a concern in Texas, not withstanding the best efforts of
Lady Bird Johnson, and Buc-ee’s is an enthusiastic practitioner of the great
American art of billboardery: “Restrooms you gotta pee to believe . . . Eat
here, get gas . . . Only 262 miles to Buc-ee’s — you can hold it . . . ” and
the simple Texas “Yee-Haw!”
Wawa has its hoagies, Buc-ee’s has kolaches.
Its customers may have a great and deep hunger for
jalapeƱo cheese bread, but Buc-ee’s has a great and deep hunger for labor: lots
of it, for which it is willing to pay goodly sums.
Over the weekend, I stopped to buy gas at a Buc-ee’s in
Bastrop, Texas, and was greeted by (in addition to a man dressed as a giant aquatic
rodent) an A-frame sign advertising Buc-ee’s version of the minimum wage:
cashiers, $12 to $14 an hour; food-service and car-wash help, $13 to $15 an
hour; team leaders, $14 to $17 an hour; assistant, $17 an hour and up. Each job
came with three weeks paid time off each year, which employees are welcome to
use, roll over, or exchange for cash. If you want 40 hours a week, there’s 40
hours a week to be had; if you want more than 40 hours a week, that can happen,
too.
Everyone’s needs vary, of course, and I am not among
those who believe that a two-income household is ideal for every situation. But
I also believe that you can raise a family decently on $70,000 a year in
Bastrop, where you can buy a perfectly serviceable house for less than $100,000
and where a nice, new one keeps you under the usual 2.5-times-your-income rule.
Assuming a couple of raises and a bit of overtime, a married couple both
working at a gas station could bring home something close to a six-figure
income between them.
When I mentioned my surprise at what it pays to work at a
gas station in Bastrop, I got two reactions, both predictable. One was from a
purported conservative who sniffed that this pay scale was absurd for such
low-skilled work, and that that was why a gallon of gas at Buc-ee’s cost a dime
more than it did across the street. (For the record, this was not true of the
Buc-ee’s in Bastrop.) And so I found myself having to accommodate the shock of
a so-called conservative who has trouble mentally processing the fact that in a
free market, consumers can choose between lots of price points offering
different levels of service and amenities. (Given how purchasing decisions are
actually made, I think they’re on to a pretty solid strategy here: A single man
traveling alone may go to the funky service station across the street to save
80 cents — Hello, Dad! — but a man traveling with a wife and children is going
to stop at the place that is famous for having the cleanest bathrooms in the
business, even if it costs him an extra buck-and-a-half for a tank of
high-test. Or he’s never going to hear
the end of it.) There’s a reason that we have first class, business class,
steerage, and Spirit Airlines: Some people are willing to pay more for better,
and some people hate themselves and don’t care if their flight from Vegas to
Houston runs a few hours late or never actually even takes off.
(Voice of experience, there.)
The left-wing response to Buc-eenomics is just as
predictable and just as dumb: If Buc-ee’s can afford to pay gas-station
attendants $17 an hour, then why can’t we mandate a $15-an-hour federal minimum
wage? Put another way: If it’s a good idea for one specific business in one
specific market at one specific time, why not everywhere? You get the same
thing with Walmart vs. Costco: They’re superficially similar businesses, so how
come the mean meanies in Arkansas can’t pay like the nice, nice men from
Washington State do? The answer, of course, is that every situation is
different, and every business is a social-science experiment, trying out
different approaches to solving social problems, which is what entrepreneurs
and successful firms actually do. If it weren’t for the self-interest of big,
nasty corporations, it wouldn’t be a question of clean bathrooms vs. less clean
ones: You’d be out there on the side of the road watering Mrs. Johnson’s
beloved bluebonnets.
Kolaches don’t stuff themselves.
It’s a funny old world. Some people make a ton of money
working as waiters, and some people don’t. Some people look at a $17-an-hour
job at the Taj Mahal of gas stations and see an opportunity that maybe isn’t
the job of a lifetime but is a pretty good job for right now; others will
complain that they aren’t allowed to have mobile phones while on the clock (I
endorse this managerial innovation) and insist that their manager has it in for
them. You all know that guy whose manager has it in for him, just like his last
one did, and the one before that: You could put that guy in a filling station
or in a Wall Street investment bank, and you’d get the same results.
My own experience in the gas-station industry was working
the overnight shift at a 7-Eleven in Lubbock, Texas, which is exactly as
bustling at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday as you would expect. I learned how to clean a
Slurpee machine and read a lot of Russian novels. It wasn’t the worst job I’ve
ever had.
Here’s a fun fact: The median salary for a women’s-studies
professor is more than a hundred grand a year. The average hourly earnings for
a graduate with a women’s-studies degree? Eleven bucks an hour, well less than
you’d make working the car wash at Buc-ee’s.
Here endeth the lesson.
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