Ringing up night crawlers, wiring the window tray at the drive in and zapping the car hop when she came to pick it up and other acts of mayhem, all with a telephone magneto. We didn't need no stinking batteries.
When I visited the Grandparents during the summer, this was the Sunday meal after church. Root beer never tastes as good as when it's from a frosty glass mug on the bench seat of your grandfather's Buick when you are 5 years old.
Remember the paste in elementary school before they added the mint flavor. My third grade teacher told us not to taste or eat the paste but some of the kids would anyway just because. Then one day somebody said hey this taste like mint. I always wondered about that.
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