Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Bad timing Mister Iceman. By then we, yes even my family, had fridges. I suspect we were the last kids on the block to own a fridge. Before that we'd had ice-chests. And for the bulk of my readers - an ice-chest was a pre-fridge cooling device for use in the home.
The ice-chest looked like a very small refrigerator. If I remember correctly, there was a compartment for the block of ice at the top of the unit. The resulting cold air would convect down to cool the food that was stored, fridge-like, on the shelves below. The blocks of ice for the ice-chests, were delivered to the home by an "iceman" who had a refrigerated van for the purpose.
I googled "ice-chest" and came up with lots of pages, but they all referred to ice coolers or Eskies as they are known in Australia. Modern day portable devices for keeping things (usually beer) cool at sporting events or at beaches where there are no electricity outlets.
Ah, I am getting old my friends. Soon I'll be, horror of horrors, a receptacle for oral history, as opposed to ... better not go there ...
But to get back to my theme before my fragile brain wanders even further afield.
The iceman of the suburban street of my childhood was a dying breed. I don't know how I know this, but that particular iceman on that sunny Australian day had just bought the business. A bad business choice.
I thought of the iceman when a new business started up around the corner from our apartment in Manhattan - a magazine store!
Not only had the business person chosen to buy in the middle of a downturn in the economy, in a place where drilling for a new subway was ripping up the street and keeping prospective consumers away in droves, but he (I assume it was a he) had decided to sell paper magazines. Un-Green, unWanted and unProfitable.
Poor Magazine Shop Owner. Poor Iceman.
The number of jobs that are becoming obsolete is mind-boggling, and one has to wonder why people enter into such business lack-of-opportunities and career paths when all signals screech, don't do it.
On the way out are paper boys, magazine stores (were they ever 'in'?), paperback writers (remember the Beatles), people who remember the Beatles, people who remember icemen, people who remember ice-chests.
On the way up are I.T. people, clouds, cell phone designers, greenies.
It's a mixed bag for yours truly. Oops - on the way OUT are people who sign off with