Nearer at hand but longer ago, in a circumstance not quite as generally recognized as "paradise," we had a similar situation.
We lived in a "company community," houses owned by the employer, an outfit that dug rocks out of the ground, cooked them and ground them up into lime. Along with regular dynamite blasts, backbreaking labor, substandard housing and the other blessings of poverty, the whole place was covered in dust.
But, what the hell, we were kids and didn't know we were supposed to be downtrodden, so we weren't. Lots of adventure to be had around quarry holes, railroad trestles and heavy equipment, but that is beside the point.
The clockhouse, where workers punched in, had a milk machine. The top opened just like a freezer chest, and the milk cartons were arranged in rows between metal dividers. The process was to select what you wanted, then slide it along between the dividers to the drop-off point. Insert a coin, pull a handle and the half pint of milk would fall into a place were it was accessible.
Unfortunately for bookkeeping, those cartons were already accessible to boys with pocket knives and straws. We'd punch a quick hole, insert a straw, slop it down and then make an escape.
Oh, now this reminds me of another bit of thievery and deception from my youth. My mom would buy 6 packs of Diet Pepsi (which wasn’t nearly as bad as TAB) and keep them in the fridge.
We weren’t allowed to have soda. But that didn’t stop us.
We figured out that if we took a pin and poked a small (nearly invisible) hole up near the pull tab, we could shake the can up and drink most of the soda before replacing it in the fridge, with nobody the wiser.
I’m pretty sure at one point my mom returned at least one of those 6 packs to the store because they were defective … some of the cans only came half full. 😎
The difference between the young and old being that the young will admit it. … and take some pride in good results.
As Mark Twain said, "I know the taste of the watermelon which has been honestly come by, and I know the taste of the watermelon which has been acquired by art. Both taste good, but the experienced know which tastes best."
Add about the same age, my cousin and I discovered a gumball machine that would give us as many gumballs as we wanted if we jerked the handle back-and-forth. We held out our T-shirts into bowls and filled them up!
One night after a Lakers game at the Forum, when my son was nine, we were coming back home, there was a woman on the street. I asked my son if he knew what she was.
He said "Yeah, she's a prostitute."
I have no idea how he knew. He did spend summers with his dad up in the Reno/Tahoe area. Pretty sure there's hookers there.
Sounds like you had some fun times with a group of like-minded boys.
lol, to be fair, at time my story takes place I’m pretty sure we had no more than a superficial (at best) understanding of what made someone either a prostitute or a bum.
Nearer at hand but longer ago, in a circumstance not quite as generally recognized as "paradise," we had a similar situation.
We lived in a "company community," houses owned by the employer, an outfit that dug rocks out of the ground, cooked them and ground them up into lime. Along with regular dynamite blasts, backbreaking labor, substandard housing and the other blessings of poverty, the whole place was covered in dust.
But, what the hell, we were kids and didn't know we were supposed to be downtrodden, so we weren't. Lots of adventure to be had around quarry holes, railroad trestles and heavy equipment, but that is beside the point.
The clockhouse, where workers punched in, had a milk machine. The top opened just like a freezer chest, and the milk cartons were arranged in rows between metal dividers. The process was to select what you wanted, then slide it along between the dividers to the drop-off point. Insert a coin, pull a handle and the half pint of milk would fall into a place were it was accessible.
Unfortunately for bookkeeping, those cartons were already accessible to boys with pocket knives and straws. We'd punch a quick hole, insert a straw, slop it down and then make an escape.
And here is the thing: WE DIDN'T EVEN WANT IT!
Hell, it was milk -- organic TAB.
We only took it because we could!
LOL, yep “we didn’t even want it”. 😁
Oh, now this reminds me of another bit of thievery and deception from my youth. My mom would buy 6 packs of Diet Pepsi (which wasn’t nearly as bad as TAB) and keep them in the fridge.
We weren’t allowed to have soda. But that didn’t stop us.
We figured out that if we took a pin and poked a small (nearly invisible) hole up near the pull tab, we could shake the can up and drink most of the soda before replacing it in the fridge, with nobody the wiser.
I’m pretty sure at one point my mom returned at least one of those 6 packs to the store because they were defective … some of the cans only came half full. 😎
Larceny is a natural tendency among the young.
The difference between the young and old being that the young will admit it. … and take some pride in good results.
As Mark Twain said, "I know the taste of the watermelon which has been honestly come by, and I know the taste of the watermelon which has been acquired by art. Both taste good, but the experienced know which tastes best."
Great story, Todd!
Add about the same age, my cousin and I discovered a gumball machine that would give us as many gumballs as we wanted if we jerked the handle back-and-forth. We held out our T-shirts into bowls and filled them up!
Now that sounds like it would have been a much harder “technically illegal” habit to break. 😁
Yes, very tempting! 😋
Too funny.
One night after a Lakers game at the Forum, when my son was nine, we were coming back home, there was a woman on the street. I asked my son if he knew what she was.
He said "Yeah, she's a prostitute."
I have no idea how he knew. He did spend summers with his dad up in the Reno/Tahoe area. Pretty sure there's hookers there.
Sounds like you had some fun times with a group of like-minded boys.
lol, to be fair, at time my story takes place I’m pretty sure we had no more than a superficial (at best) understanding of what made someone either a prostitute or a bum.
I suspect it was probably the same for your son.
I'm not sure because his dad was a dealer at a casino in Tahoe and may have let something slip.