Now that’s service!

Except for the administration of the City of Las Vegas, which farms out its advertisements to the Journal North, bypassing the Tri-Weekly Optic, lots of people feel good about shopping locally and keeping the money in circulation.

I’ve tried to abide by that policy. A couple of times last week I was favorably impressed with local service — and remember, this comes from a man who believes it’s courteous to say “please” and “thank you” and to go way beyond our job description.

Let me explain:

I needed windshield wipers and a turn signal bulb, so I went to Auto Zone, where a young clerk, Megan, told me she’d be happy to install the wipers for me. She struggled a while until the boss, Max, explained that my particular model of Ford had a strange wiper configuration which the store lacked.

So the workers at Auto Zone phoned Checker Auto, the competition, where they assured the cross-town auto parts store that the wipers were indeed in stock. At Checker Auto, a clerk named Gilbert installed the wipers — it was cold that morning — and offered to install the turn signal light as well.

I’d only guessed the front bulb was on the fritz, and replacement would have involved only popping the hood and twisting off the errant bulb. But it turns out I’d ID’d the wrong bulb — I should’ve checked carefully — and it was the rear bulb that needed replacement.

Without hesitation, Gilbert got his toolbox, loosened some screws and madethe installation.

I’m impressed and will gladly return to businesses that hire people like Megan, Max and Gilbert.

The second instance last week involved slightly different kinds of technicians, as I underwent minor surgery at Alta Vista Regional Hospital. The procedure, which took no more than an hour, went smoothly.

From the friendly, polite and professional greeting from receptionist Charlene Lopez in same-day surgery, to the competent services of the crew in an operating room, I felt comfortable, safe and well cared for.

Perhaps to make doubly sure, nurses continued to ask, “Do you know what procedure you’re undergoing this morning?” After the third time, I replied, “If you don’t know what I’m here for, then we’re in trouble.” The nurse even acted as if she’d caught and appreciated my hypnogogic attempt at hospital humor.

It’s hard to focus on names while a liquid designed to induce sleep and forgetfulness courses through my veins. I can remember some of the names, however, of those who provided such professional assistance to Dr. Sandy Brown: Mary Sterling, Cynthia Ridgeway, Sandy Deisler and Janet Lackey.

• • •

In my day, athletes didn’t grow very tall. A basketball player at 5-9 might have gotten a starting job ahead of someone just an inch shorter. Six-footers were rare in the ‘50s.

That’s why I did a double-take last week when I ran into Barney Salazar, amultiple-sports player and former schoolmate from Immaculate Conception. Here’s what happened:

Where the I.C. Colts used to practice, McFarland Hall, there rested by the bleachers a worn-out trampoline. Once, during a break, Barney took a running start, dribbled the ball, bounced off the trampoline and stuffed the ball.

Watching that happen, his coach, Nick DiDomenico, asked if I could photograph the play — for purposes of intimidation? — and publish the photo in the Daily Optic. The photo showed only the top half of Barney’s body but not the trampoline that helped him reach new heights toward a 10-foot-high rim.

The slam-dunk didn’t fool coach Gillie Lopez, whose West Las Vegas Dons were next on the Colts’ schedule. Gillie explained to me exactly how Barney had made the shot.

Wondering about slam dunks and high school basketball players, I asked coach Art Abreu about the phenomenon. Abreu was 6-2 in high school and didn’t slam-dunk until he grew two more inches and played for the Highlands Cowboys.

Abreu said that generally, high school boys in northern New Mexico somehow lack the physiology to enable them to dunk a basketball. And he explained that teams are assessed technical fouls if the refs see any player — in high school or college — dunking a ball during the warmups. During games it’s legal, exciting and encouraged.

Once, at the start of a local game, an official assessed technical fouls on a team — even before the opening tipoff — because a couple of players had dunked the ball. That assessment cost the team two free throws even before a second had ticked off the clock.

But one of the offending players more than made up for it by dunking the ball when it counted.

• • •

How much are two pennies worth today? A recent column in which I said farewell to the Daily Optic, as it became a tri-weekly, recounted some of the travails of us Optic sellers who earned two cents for every paper we sold on the streets.

The profit was a bit less for those with newspaper routes, but after all, those were guaranteed sales. Lawrence Sandoval said someone asked him why anyone would work several hours each afternoon and most of Saturday for such paltry profits. Sandoval explained that he felt lucky if he earned a quarter a day. So he supplemented his income by shining shoes.

We all knew the value of a penny or two in those days. And we spent the money locally.

• • •

A friend, a writer from the east, asked me the other day, “What are we? Chopped liver?” He was referring to the blinking-light, four-way stop at Grand and University, where fully functioning traffic lights used to be. We understand the blankety-blinkety lights will remain flashing until hoped-for improvements take place on Grand.

Meanwhile, it’s hazardous trying to get through that busy crossing. Much more on this issue will appear in future columns.