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The Master

First time you felt old

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An attempt to one-up Kellen: I was still in middle school when this thread was started, and I'm currently in the process of getting things sorted out so I can graduate college. 

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Was talking to a co-worker a few weeks ago and asked if they watch the Venture Bros as I'd been doing a re-watch. They said they always wanted to, but their mom wouldn't allow them to because it was on too late and not meant for kids.

That stunned me. The show first dropped when I was in high school. Only then did it hit me that it's been around for fifteen years.

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I was involved in a couple student groups in college, and wrote the constitution for one of them. They are still using basically the same constitution that I wrote when I was an undergrad.

Some of the current members of that club were born after I wrote it.

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It occurs to me that the woman working at the ice cream shop today was probably born in 1999 or 2000.

Yes. People born then are legal adults now. (Which I referenced earlier with my oldest great nephew being 20. But still. I am old.)

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3 hours ago, Donomark said:

Being several years older than college students is too weird.

 

ugkb7wtaw1421.jpg

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To be honest, anything Dan posts in here is going to get that reaction. Such as wax discs and the electric grammaphones.

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On 4/16/2019 at 4:17 PM, slothian said:

To be honest, anything Dan posts in here is going to get that reaction. Such as wax discs and the electric grammaphones.

Well, vinyl has made a comeback in recent years, so hey, Dan's people have re-found him. 

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On 4/14/2019 at 4:57 PM, Dan said:

 

ugkb7wtaw1421.jpg

I think Dan and I are the same age. My kids are 5 and 7, but I am at the point where I could have children old enough to be college students. If I recall correctly from the podcast Dan and Mike did on Star Wars Episode II, @Dan's son would actually be that age now.

I've had at least 4 or 5 people ask if my younger child is my grandson.

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I started my first job, as a busboy for a Big Boy restaurant, thirty years ago this month.

Thirty years ago this month. Thirty years.

I was super excited to be making $3.85 per hour instead of the minimum wage of $3.35.

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Similar thing here. Next year will be 30 years since my first job. I was a 12-year-old stock boy at a mob-owned grocery story. (Not even kidding.)

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I assume that's as common in Chicago as -40 and snow are in Manitoba.

In reality I have so many questions...do people just not care about that sort of thing or did someone in your family know them?

Have I got myself marked for death by asking?

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That's a good question. In truth, I'm not sure who knew and who didn't. Thinking about it, I'm not sure my mom knew (or knows now) that the place was mob-tied.

The town in which I grew up is adjacent to Cicero, which was one of the most corrupt suburbs in the Chicagoland area. For historical reference, Cicero was Al Capone's base in the 1920s, and his political style lasted into the very early 21st century. Cicero's most famous Town President, Betty Loren-Maltese, stole over $10 million from the city. This type of dirty politics and mob corruption bled into the neighboring townships -- including my own.

What I can say is that police definitely knew who owned the store. This was most evident in the rules that were placed upon me as an employee. Not only did I stock the shelves, clean the floors, operate the trash compactor and baler, I was also trained to run the butcher counter as well as the deli. When I cashiered, I could sell anything -- including lottery tickets and cigarettes. While this was illegal, no one batted an eye. Hell, I sold cigarettes to cops all the time. However, I was absolutely forbade from selling alcohol. If a 12-year-old was seen selling booze, the police would have no choice but to shut the place down.

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My second job was as a bagger in a grocery store.

I thought it was silly that anyone under 18 was technically not allowed to throw cardboard into the baler, when I was in high school. I can totally see not being allowed to operate it, but there is zero danger in tossing a box in from 3 feet away. Just dumb.

It was way more dangerous to bring in carts in a thunderstorm or sub-zero weather - as I did many times - than throw a frigging box into the baler.

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5 hours ago, The Master said:

That's a good question. In truth, I'm not sure who knew and who didn't. Thinking about it, I'm not sure my mom knew (or knows now) that the place was mob-tied.

The town in which I grew up is adjacent to Cicero, which was one of the most corrupt suburbs in the Chicagoland area. For historical reference, Cicero was Al Capone's base in the 1920s, and his political style lasted into the very early 21st century. Cicero's most famous Town President, Betty Loren-Maltese, stole over $10 million from the city. This type of dirty politics and mob corruption bled into the neighboring townships -- including my own.

What I can say is that police definitely knew who owned the store. This was most evident in the rules that were placed upon me as an employee. Not only did I stock the shelves, clean the floors, operate the trash compactor and baler, I was also trained to run the butcher counter as well as the deli. When I cashiered, I could sell anything -- including lottery tickets and cigarettes. While this was illegal, no one batted an eye. Hell, I sold cigarettes to cops all the time. However, I was absolutely forbade from selling alcohol. If a 12-year-old was seen selling booze, the police would have no choice but to shut the place down.

It's always wild when you look back and realize these things. The town I grew up in is about halfway between Boston and Providence, and when I was a kid the head of the Providence Mafia actually lived less than a mile from my house. As a result, there were a number of businesses in town that turned out to be mob-owned, although it was mostly kept relatively quiet (it wasn't until I was an adult that I found out a certain dry cleaner and a couple of restaurants were fronts), but it was well known that they owned what was one of the most successful strip clubs outside Boston's Combat Zone, right down the street from my high school.

(Incidentally, having a club like that in your small town is a lot less awesome than you would think. Going in for the first time gets very awkward very quickly when you realize that dancer named Chantal is actually named Rachel and she was in your English class last year.)

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