When I was little my first 'job' was a paper route for the Niagara Falls Review (Evening Review?). I'm not entirely sure if the name had already changed at that point... and part of my job was to collect money weekly from the subscribers. They don't even do that any more now that there is direct payments from your bank account (which totally sucks for the carriers now because no collecting = no tips). But I remember having to provide 'punch' cards to each house and each week when they paid I would have to punch a hole through the appropriate date (yeah I had to carry one of those single hole punchers around with me.
But even before that the carrier used to have to rip off a tab with the date and provide it to the subscriber so they had proof they paid (Who remembers that?) A receipt if you will. And look what we found! It's real old and tiny and yet it instantly brought me back to the earlier days when the only stress I had was delivering my newspapers in the rain, at dusk (during the winter season) and big scary dogs who didn't like their paper carrier. It's little stuff like this that teach us the realities of what time travel is.
|1956! That's crazy.|
So my house is at least 58 years old. That explains so much.