When I was 8 or 9, I was at my grandmother’s house, and her smoking/card playing/gossip neighbor was also there to, well, smoke, play cards and gossip. She gave me a small handful of change, maybe 50¢, and told me to walk over to the grocery store and get her some cigarettes. I’d never “priced” cigarettes before, so I went through a checkout line. When the cashier saw how much money I had, she knew the woman had meant for me to get 1 pack from the vending machine. She asked the sacker to take me over there and show me how to get them. When I think back on that, I can’t help but think how long ago that must have been, considering how many “unthinkable” things happened in that one little trip:
1. Cigarettes were 50¢ a pack.
2. Grocery stores had cigarette vending machines.
3. The cashier and sacker thought nothing of an 8 year old boy buying cigarettes.
4. Grocery stores had sackers.
5. Nobody thought twice about sending an 8 year old boy several blocks along a busy city boulevard by himself, and in a neighborhood he didn’t live in.
6. HE SURVIVED!
-- My broker promised me he would treat my money as if it were his own. Trouble is, he did.
