Tag Nostalgia

Those Were The Days

Michael 1 Comment

I’ve been spending the past several evenings watching Bond, James Bond movies going all the way back to the first offering from 1962. I was reminded, happily reminded, of how courteous people were back then. Everyone dressed well, everyone said please and thank you, everyone treated each other with respect. If I hadn’t lived through it myself I would say this was a romanticized version of mid-century life, but it wasn’t. At least it wasn’t where I lived and that wasn’t London, or New York, or Kingston, Jamaica. Nor was it spent in high class casinos, private clubs, or Caribbean resorts. It was a dinky little steel mill town in Western Pennsylvania and people still dressed well, said please and thank you, and treated each other with respect. If it had been sunnier more days than it was it could have been the set of Leave It To Beaver.

I was just about to type that the movies are part of a month long festival of sorts courtesy of the Starz/Encore networks. That’s not quite true. The movies are indeed part of a month long Bond, James Bond celebration airing on the Starz/Encore channels but they are there to see courtesy of myself by way of my monthly cable bill. And I think that is part of why I miss those original days of Bond, James Bond. No, the cable channel wouldn’t have paid for my movies back then. We all know there wasn’t cable then. Movies were at the theater. Where you dressed for the day out, said “please” when asking for a ticket and “you’re welcome” in response to the “thank you” the cashier would cheerfully tell you. Where the movie, popcorn, soft drink, and bus fare to get there and back could be had for the dollar bill mom gave you and let you keep the change. Today that 1962 fifty cent movie is included as part of my $140 monthly cable bill. And I have to provide my own popcorn and drink.

MarqueeThe last time I went to a Bond, James Bond movie at a theater it cost me $9.50 and when I passed over my $20 bill I got a ticket, the wrong change, and a “there ya go.” When I pointed out the error I was rewarded with the insipid “my bad.” At the concession stand I spent $7.50 for a soft drink, the required purchase to redeem my FREE POPCORN! coupon, during a wordless transaction other than my “small popcorn and Sprite” at its beginning and my “thank you” at its conclusion. (I’m still not sure why I thank the seller when I purchase something. Please tell me I’m not the only one.)

Even ignoring the almost 27 fold increase in the monetary outlay, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Oh it wasn’t unpleasant. Nobody tried to pick my pocket, the crowd in the cinema was mostly quiet, and I didn’t spill my sticky soft drink onto my lap. Conversely, nobody said “excuse me” as they climbed over the lady in the row in front of me to get to the only seats that would satisfy them, nobody apologized for knocking the sticky soft drink into the lap of the unfortunate lady who was climbed over, and almost everybody dashed out of the theater as if someone actually yelled fire at the movie’s end. The niceties that were there in Those Good Old Days weren’t there and probably will never return.

If you should be unfortunate enough to ever mention this, particularly if you ever mention this to someone whose only experience with those late-50s early-60s days were through old movies or syndicated reruns of the Beaver, you may be rebuked for your naiveté and wistful but obviously wrong recollection of a time that wasn’t. But for me it was, they were, and it still is not a bad thing to aspire.

And now I have to run to the store and pick up popcorn for tonight’s showing. If I’m lucky, I might find a coupon.

 

What Gimbels Didn’t Tell Macy

Michael Leave a comment

Last weekend I had the occasion to hold a credit card in my hand. It was my own. No need to call out the diversion police. And indeed I’ve held it once or twice before. Usually the only time we hold a card is when we swipe it through or slot it into a card reader. But this time I had to actually pay some attention to it. I was ordering something on line and, no matter how politely they ask, I won’t allow a merchant or browser to store my card information. Call me old fashioned. Anyway, it was while I reading it, or I should say struggling to read it, that I thought how little these little chunks of plastic have changed in the 40ish years that I’ve been carrying one.

The first card I carried was for Gimbels department stores. You might remember Gimbels
from the movie “Miracle on 34th Street” as the main competitor to R. H. Macy and his juggernaut of an outlet that doubled as a destination to New York’s second oldest gimbelsThanksgiving Day parade. Gimbels beat him by four years on that one. Again anyway, my Gimbels card had none of the modern improvements like the RFID chip and magnetic strip, the issuer ID and hologram, the CVV (that three or f
our digit number on the back that is supposed to mean you have the card in your possession but everybody wants when you aren’t in their company), or even a signature strip and expiration date. Nope, all it had was my account number and name. In that same embossed type that today’s “modern” cards use.

That’s why I was struggling so hard to read that credit card this weekend. It was those silly embossed characters. They start out in a different color than the body of the card but after a while (like a few hours) of being carried around in a wallet, that color wears off and all you are left with are the raised ghosts of the numbers identifying your account number and expiration date. Fortunately I know my name. With all the advancements made on that little piece of plastic why are they still using raised letters for the most important characters on the card? Well, it seems they are still about, and still being used I would imagine if they are about. And the it are credit card machines. Not the reader thingies you slide your magnetic stripped equipped card through. The imprinter thingies that run an ink-covered roller over the card.

If you are old enough you might remember one like  this:

imprinter2

But I remember one like his:

imprinter1

From where do I remember such a dinosaur? From Gimbels, of course. The only reason I had that early card was because that was my in-the-summer-and-on-breaks-and-vacation job during college. You don’t think they’d give a 20 year old a credit card unless they were controlling his income, do you? Back then, twienty wasn’t even old enough to vote. No, I’m not kidding all you 18 to 20 year olds out there. But for a third time anyway, while I was struggling trying to read those horrible raised numbers I suddenly remembered those old imprinters. And that got me wondering if they were still out there. That was the only reason anyone could imagine still embossing the name and number on a modern credit card. Since I have that kind of time, I checked. Indeed you can still buy a credit card imprinter (both styles even) if you were in I would imagine a rather vintage retail business and really wanted to carry on the nostalgic feeling.

For the zillions of us who really don’t care about nostalgia carried to that extreme perhaps the next time I’m due for a new card, Capital One will issue me one with a printed number that I can actually read.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?