How well I remember

I go back to what some folks refer to as the good old days. Their primary reasoning for this description of the 1930’s is that they have heard, from us old folks that a pair of shoes could be purchased for $1.98 or a shirt for $0.98. They have not taken into consideration that one would have to work for better than two days to earn enough for these expenditures. In those days, an adult’s weekly wages would have amounted to less than the money that many of today’s children receive as an allowance. I suppose the fact of the financial situation of most families during and just after the depression was, at best, despondent.  This is primarilly  the reason that even now, I cannot bring myself to pay $150.00 or $200.00 for a pair of shoes. Allowances were something enjoyed by the rich, city, children and something that rural kids only dreamed about. Any monies that they were able to earn were combined in an effort to keep the wolf from the door.

As the economy improved, more modern conveniences were added to the lives of rural Americans. A couple of these conveniences were the automobile and the telephone. The automobile was perhaps the most helpful for the rural families since they could travel distances in a few hours that would take all day in a horse-drawn wagon. But, few of today’s citizens are aware that their cost for a tank of gasoline for their $25-30,000 cars is more than the average adult wages for a month.

Now comes the telephone, the first of which was a wall-mounted box with a crank that rang into central where a pleasant voice would say, “Number, please. If we didn’t know the number, all that was necessary was to ask central to ring Dr. Pervis. If the call was confidential, we simply asked Mrs. Belton and Mrs. Smith (two of several people on our party line) to hang up. Certainly, we were not asked to press or say English. Nor were we asked to press or say one if we wanted an appointment, or were asking about a bill, etc.

These computer-driven telephones have been a thorn in my side for several years. Dialing a number and being asked to say what language I want to speak really grates on my last nerve. Hey, Look! This is America and we are Americans, talking on an American telephone. If different languages are so important to the ones we are calling, they should hire an interpreter to answer their damned telephone. I seriously doubt if any other country worries about whether or not we can understand when we make a call on their telephone.

I’ll quit bitching, now.

Demijon