In my little hometown, in the late 1940s, the selections in the two small, local, independent grocery stores were not great, and low-volume buying and shipping made prices a bit higher than in ‘the big city.’ My Dad suggested that we start driving 25 miles to the ‘giant metropolis’ of 10,000 people, and shop at the Loblaw’s store.
In our little blue-lawed town, stores closed at 6:00 PM, and there was no such thing as Sunday shopping. On Friday nights, the Loblaw’s stayed open until 9:00. Dad would come home from work at 5, we’d have a quick supper, and be on the road by 6.
It became a routine. The choices were greater. The lower grocery prices paid for the gas burned, and it was a family adventure. There might even be enough left over to have some French fries from a ‘chip wagon.’
One warm July Friday night, we rolled up main street. Dad found a parking spot about a half a block from the store, and put a dime in a parking meter for an hour’s stay. Long before the advent of suburban malls, stores were ‘downtown.’
We walked to the Loblaw’s, did our shopping, and checked out, with some time to spare. In the days of good manners and social restraint, shopping carts were not allowed out of the store onto main street. All groceries had to be carried.
We had four large paper bags. I was 6 years old, and my brother was three. We weren’t going to carry any. My Mother tucked two of the lighter ones in the crooks of her elbows, and my Dad hefted the rest. When we exited the store, there were no hands free to guide us, so my Mom said to me, “You take your brother, and go on ahead to the car.” So, leading him by the hand, off we set down an un-busy sidewalk.
We got to the (unlocked) car long before they did. In the days before air conditioned stores, the double doors of the store beside the car stood propped open. Just as I was about to open the car, I heard ‘clickety-click, clickety-click.’ What was that sound? Dragging him, we stepped over to the store doors and looked and listened.
This was not quite a department store, more like a 5 and 10, five times as big as the tiny Dime Store in my town. There were sales-clerks in various spots, but no cash registers or money. They had a something much like a pneumatic tube system, only made out of steel mesh.
All the price tags, and the customers’ money, were put into a 4” X 4” x 6” steel mesh car, with a little electric motor, and pushed into a drop-tube. Clickety-click, clickety-click, up it went, turned at the top, and clickety-click, clickety-click, ran around the store, and up into a cash office on a mezzanine level. There, a clerk verified all totals, made change, and returned the little car along with a receipt. An adjustable semaphore determined which station it would drop out at.
This was the sound that I’d heard. We, or at least techno-geek me, stared in awe. The nearest clerk noticed us, and asked if we’d like to see it again. “Yes please!” She wrote a note that said, “I have two fascinated kids here. Just return it.” and stuffed it up the tube. Clickety-click, clickety-click, up it went, around the room and up into the office. Thirty seconds later, clickety-click, back it came.
She wasn’t busy, so she asked, “Wanna do it once more?” “Yes please!” She added, “One more time” to the note and, clickety-click, off it dashed again, like a 1950 slot-car and clickety-click, soon returned and popped out one more time.
Now…. Let’s step outside, and see what this looked like to our parents. They’d sent two kids half a block on a main street sidewalk, in broad daylight, but when they got to the car, we weren’t there. Where the Hell did the kids go??! Had someone kidnapped us? Had we got into the wrong car, and inadvertently been driven off? Were we lost, and wandering the streets?
They quickly stowed the groceries, and began searching. Up and down the street, asking random pedestrians if they’d seen two little boys – back to the Loblaw’s – Dad went one way, Mom went the other. They finally returned to the car in a panic….and we calmly walked out of the store. We hadn’t been more than twenty feet away, all the time, but there had been no reason for them to think we’d gone inside.
Too happy, to give me shit, Mom still impressed on me that I should never do such a thing again. And while we weren’t at the car, the dime’s worth of parking had expired, and an eagle-eyed meter maid had given Dad a parking ticket to pay. No French fries that night. I didn’t get lost again for 8 years, when I got swept up in another school group touring a Niagara power station, and had to explain to the Principal, why I wasn’t there for our head-count. 😳
PHOTO PROMPT – © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
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