Come’n gather ’round boys and girls. I want to tell you a story of times gone by.
The year was 1996 and it was a hot Ju-ly in Georgia. I’d spent several months trying to convince my parents that people other than drug dealers had pagers, but I was beginning to lose hope. My 15th birthday was quickly approaching and I prayed every night that they would relent and buy me that most coveted possession. The day finally arrived and I headed off to the DMV to get my learner’s license. The bff went with me cause…well that’s what bff’s do. I passed my test with flying colors and we all headed back home.
When we arrived I ran in the door and informed my dad that I would now be driving him around for the next year. He congratulated me with a hug and a box. And guess what was in that box boys and girls. A pager! A "smoke" colored pager to be exact. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about an electronic device in all my life. The bff and I danced around the room in delight! Let the 143s and the 911s begin!
After we regained our composure my parents sat me down and gave me a stern talkin’ to about the rules of use for the pager. I wasn’t allowed to take it to school, I had to turn it off when I went to bed, and when they paged me I was to stop what I was doing….no matter what…even if I was in the middle of dying…and call them back immediately!
In the years after that I enjoyed my smoke pager immensely. I probably killed an entire rainforest with the scrapes of paper I used trying to figure out messages people paged me with, but I still enjoyed immensely. And I always, always stopped what I was doing and ran to the nearest pay phone and called my parents when they paged me. We didn’t have cell phones back then boys and girls…and we walked to school…uphill…both ways.
Eventually I did get a cell phone and the pager was soon forgotten, but I’ll always have a special place in my heart for that little device. We had some good times.
The end.
