works there is sort of creepy. So she goes to the weird pharmacy, the one up in Morningside Heights. But film development isnât instant; in fact, it takes a fucking day. You have to drop it off and then come back the next day to pick it up. Then she remembers the new thing that some places have called one-hour photos. How much of a technological mind blower that is! But only the nice places have it, like the place sheâs already been to three times. She really likes the guy she took the pictures for, plus, she already put so much time and effort into the whole thing, so she might as well see it through.
She goes back to the original pharmacy that sheâs already been to three times and goes to the one-hour photo counter. The guy behind the counter is creepy and it skeeves her out to think heâll be developing her pictures, but then again sheâs already in this deep, so she might as well keep going. He says it will take an hour, so she goes and gets a coffee, then buys an envelope and a few stamps. When she goes to pick up the pictures, the creepy guy is looking at her even creepier and the envelope he gives her only has twenty-one pictures in it, even though there should be twenty-four. She doesnât argue with him, because there is an old lady behind her in the store who reminds her of her grandmother. So instead, she just hopes he didnât take the best three and walks home. Then she has to comb through and pick out the best one. She puts it in an envelope, writes the guyâs address on it, pops two stamps on it (to really make sure it gets there), walks down her stairs, out her door, down the block, and drops it in the mailbox. Then, two to three business days later, he receives a nudie shot. Nice!
Since the older fellas I know wonât let me forget how much technology has changed everything between our generations, it makes me think about how I will give the next generation of young men, and anyone who will even still listen to me at that point, a bunch of shit about how great they have it. Most dads or grandads use the olâ when I was your age I had to walk to school, ten miles in the snow, uphill, both ways! That one is so dumb. Hey, baby boomersâof all the luxuries our generation has been afforded over yours, school transportation is your go-to? Not even a mention of the invention of Google Maps or the prevalence of gals shaving their boxes? We shouldnât let our generationâs equivalent example be as lame for the next batch of youngsters. The difference between my generation and theirs is already showing its incredibly sexy head. Iâve got cousins, ten and twelve years old, these two little punks. I think about how theyâll have it easier than I did and in what areas. How about the almighty boob? When I was in my adolescence, all I wanted was to up my boobie count. We werenât seeing live boobs in person, maybe a nipple slip here or there. For the most part, we had to rely on the TV. You could rent an R-rated movie, but that wasnât a guarantee there would be a boob in it. Plus, our parents werenât too big on letting us watch R movies. That didnât stop us, but we werenât going to put all of our efforts into acquiring an R movie if we werenât sure it would deliver. You had to be sure. Forget looking it up on the Internet to confirm; Al Gore hadnât invented it yet. To find out where all the boobies were at, you had to hit the streets and do your research. You had to check in with the kids who lived in a one-parent home on the other side of the tracks. They were watching all the R movies; they had the scoop. You had to keep your ear to the ground. I can remember one time I was at one of my soccer games, waiting for it to start. I didnât have to warm up or stretch or anything, because I was our teamâs goalie. I was six feet four at twelve years old, guarding a seven-foot goal. Good luck scoring, normal-sized
She goes back to the original pharmacy that sheâs already been to three times and goes to the one-hour photo counter. The guy behind the counter is creepy and it skeeves her out to think heâll be developing her pictures, but then again sheâs already in this deep, so she might as well keep going. He says it will take an hour, so she goes and gets a coffee, then buys an envelope and a few stamps. When she goes to pick up the pictures, the creepy guy is looking at her even creepier and the envelope he gives her only has twenty-one pictures in it, even though there should be twenty-four. She doesnât argue with him, because there is an old lady behind her in the store who reminds her of her grandmother. So instead, she just hopes he didnât take the best three and walks home. Then she has to comb through and pick out the best one. She puts it in an envelope, writes the guyâs address on it, pops two stamps on it (to really make sure it gets there), walks down her stairs, out her door, down the block, and drops it in the mailbox. Then, two to three business days later, he receives a nudie shot. Nice!
Since the older fellas I know wonât let me forget how much technology has changed everything between our generations, it makes me think about how I will give the next generation of young men, and anyone who will even still listen to me at that point, a bunch of shit about how great they have it. Most dads or grandads use the olâ when I was your age I had to walk to school, ten miles in the snow, uphill, both ways! That one is so dumb. Hey, baby boomersâof all the luxuries our generation has been afforded over yours, school transportation is your go-to? Not even a mention of the invention of Google Maps or the prevalence of gals shaving their boxes? We shouldnât let our generationâs equivalent example be as lame for the next batch of youngsters. The difference between my generation and theirs is already showing its incredibly sexy head. Iâve got cousins, ten and twelve years old, these two little punks. I think about how theyâll have it easier than I did and in what areas. How about the almighty boob? When I was in my adolescence, all I wanted was to up my boobie count. We werenât seeing live boobs in person, maybe a nipple slip here or there. For the most part, we had to rely on the TV. You could rent an R-rated movie, but that wasnât a guarantee there would be a boob in it. Plus, our parents werenât too big on letting us watch R movies. That didnât stop us, but we werenât going to put all of our efforts into acquiring an R movie if we werenât sure it would deliver. You had to be sure. Forget looking it up on the Internet to confirm; Al Gore hadnât invented it yet. To find out where all the boobies were at, you had to hit the streets and do your research. You had to check in with the kids who lived in a one-parent home on the other side of the tracks. They were watching all the R movies; they had the scoop. You had to keep your ear to the ground. I can remember one time I was at one of my soccer games, waiting for it to start. I didnât have to warm up or stretch or anything, because I was our teamâs goalie. I was six feet four at twelve years old, guarding a seven-foot goal. Good luck scoring, normal-sized
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