Laboriously fixing typewriter errors with whiteout, gazing at the stunning new Studebaker in newspaper ads, furtively touching up the shine on your Oxfords with Kiwi brown in the men's room, shyly asking the office ubergeek if he'd come over that night to replace the failing vaccum tubes in your DuMont, dreaming about the all the money you'd soon save with the "too cheap to meter" electric power nuclear energy was about to bring, laughing at how bad that washed up B-movie dork Ronald Reagan was last night on General Electric Theatre, trying to get a peek at the office steno pool secretary's bare ankles, taking surreptitous surveillance notes on the obvious office Communist (he drove a Volvo and sometimes wore overly loud ties . . . TO WORK), and wondering whether it was time for a new pocket protector . . . or not.
Facebook
Twitter