This morning couldn’t come fast enough. I haven’t had a date for a long time and ever since I saw the sign with his name on it I couldn’t get it out of my mind. When it was finally lunchtime I ran downstairs with my car keys in hand and within a few minutes I was approaching the building where it was going to happen.
O, how I longed for this minute. My heart was beating faster and faster. There was no way this date could go wrong. With the name like Reuben, I knew he wouldn’t disappoint. All the signs where pointing to the place where we will finally meet.
My heart was pounding and the things happening with my mind and body could only be understood by an experienced medical professional. I timidly approached the counter and whispered: “Reuben, please”. The wait was becoming unbearable. I had to run outside to see if he was ready.
He was getting dressed. My lips were smacking in anticipation. I ran back inside.
Then out again.
This was starting to feel like torture. Sweet, sweet torture. I was ready to explode. Finally he was mine. I stared lustily, he was all there – seductively spread in front of me, on a slightly grilled hoagie roll, covered with slices of thick-cut pastrami, cheese, sauerkraut and topped with the thousand island dressing, so hot, steamy and beautiful.
His smell took over my car turning it into a prison of anticipation and impatience. We still had to get back to my place. I couldn’t keep my eyes on the road.
I couldn’t think of anything else, I just wanted to touch this hot mess with my lips, swollen with desire. I don’t remember much of the ride. Finally we were alone.
The short ride helped me regain my senses. I wanted this to last as long as I could, and this I could control for a change.
I could, of course, dig in face first, impatiently devouring my beloved Reuben, tearing into the hot dog, pastrami, roll, taking greedy bites until nothing was left. Or I could take it slow, savoring a bite after delicious bite. The choice was hard. Maybe I should’ve made it a threesome so I could experience it in every way. I chased impure thoughts out of my head.
Slowly I started to cut it in small pieces. Sauerkraut juices mixed with dressing were getting me even more excited. O, what a pleasure every small bite was. I could do this for hours.
Finally it was over. I thought about smoking a cigarette but then remembered that I quit 13 years ago. Reuben almost made me get back to the old habit. I listened to the music instead.
“The best four dollar date I ever had” I thought to myself making imaginary smoke rings, “I wouldn’t mind doing this again” Hot Dog Haven, Armour Rd. Kansas City,MO.
Google tweaked something in its Life Magazine Archives search and now I am finding some of the best photos I was ever able to post on this blog. This batch was taken by the Life photographer William Vandivert in 1938. I can’t place most of these, so feel free to comment.
It’s no surprise that I find a lot in common with people 30 year older than me – we share similar memories. But since I am physically not old enough to retire to a front porch where I’d whittle and chase kids off my lawn, occasionally telling educational “in my day…” stories to anyone who would listen, I have to resort to occasionally posting these stories on this here blog. Just like it says in these unfunny pictures old(er) women share on Facebook: “age is nothing but a number”, and my number is 67. I wish the Social Security would agree.
In my day we didn’t go to physicals, the physicals came to us…
This piece of art was published in a special issue of the Billboard Magazine where everyone from Michael’s accountant to the company which made his tapes took out ads to congratulate Michael Jackson (and slap their own backs in the process)on becoming the King of Pop.
After the first picture I just couldn’t stop. Sorry…
I am not sure what to make of the fact that one year anniversary of this blog falls on the 90th anniversary of Komsomol – Communist Union of Youth which I joined at the ge 14 back in 1983. Komsomol was a third step in the Soviet brainwashing pyramid after the Little Octobrists and the Young Pioneers. Knowing that the big 90th anniversary is coming up I was trying to think what do I remember about being in Komsomol and couldn’t come up with anything. By 1983 joining all the communist organizations while still mandatory, became more or less a formality. People who refused to join were constantly harassed by Komsomol leaders appealing to their non-existent communist spirit; on the other hand, “troublemakers” and openly religious people weren’t easily accepted, which could have had a negative influence on their future lives and chances of getting into college.
In order to join one had to fill out an application and be recommended by two members of Komsomol and/or Communist Party and also by a local Young Pioneer Organization. To make it look even more serious the candidate had to study the Komsomol Bylaws and be able to answer specific questions. If I remember correctly “specific” questions were supplied to us ahead of time. An artist’s depiction of the ceremony in 1962 looked like this:
For your homework find a difference between the painting above and its previous version from 1949. Discuss amongst yourself.
In my case it didn’t look anything like that; several people got accepted at once after answering some questions with prepared answers. A member of Komsomol had a membership ID like this
and a pin like this
On the right side of the membership ID you see one of the pages where a payment of membership dues was marked with a special stamp. Komsomol was the first of the Communist Organizations that had actual dues. Since the Soviet kids didn’t work (unlike poor exploited children in the West) the monthly dues were two kopecks, pretty much a pocket change but multiplied by millions of members it added up to huge amounts of money.
I continued to pay membership dues throughout the technical school and in the army. It increased a little but was always a small amount.
One could stay in Komsomol until the age of 28. Some joined the communist party before that, some just let their membership run out. For my generation Komsomol slowly dissipated without a trace and no memories. When I was leaving the country in 1992 I didn’t even know where my ID was. Many Komsomol leaders used their positions, connections,probably some of the dues and other property to acquire huge amounts of wealth and become oligarchs. The rest of us just moved on…
Just like many other attributes of the USSR Komsomol is now fondly remembered by some. Big celebrations were held this week to commemorate the 90th anniversary. Years are like beer-goggles of history, they make even the ugly past look better.
