I got thinking the other day, as I was watching a sitcom, about paperboys of the past. Maybe in some areas, they still ply their trade – sacks of newspapers over their shoulders or tucked into baskets on bikes, riding down the street and casually tossing the papers onto the front porch, or onto the roof, into the rosebushes, under the sprinkler. We don’t have that any more, at least not in our area. Mine is a surly young man in a vehicle about the size of a smart car. The transmission and exhaust system have done their duty and are trying to retire gracefully. He arrives sometime before dawn, because he obviously can’t see where to drop the paper. So he’ll leave it conveniently in the middle of the roadway I share with the neighbors in our condo complex, where they’ll be sure to drive over it.
Our previous delivery person had a good eye and a sure pitching arm. I’d hear the paper “thump” against the front door about 5:30 each morning. The first time our daughter was home from college, she thought we were being burgled or there were prowlers about. Several successive delivery people moved the location back farther and farther – to the front walkway, to the stairs going up to the driveway, and finally, well, now into the road. I met him on one occasion last week as I was out sweeping the front steps. He was late, of course – it was almost noon – and he blamed it on the newspaper publishers. The presses were late. Not his fault.
This guy is nice enough, but not the neighborhood adolescent of ages past. He looks to be in his late twenties. Clearly, he’s not too happy with the way his career trajectory is going. I could make several speculations as to why that is. When we have a few snowflakes, the paper doesn’t come. Apparently, he’s a bit skittish about winter weather. I can certainly understand when the snow piles up and the plows are out, but really? That dusting we got last night, not even enough to shovel, will have melted by midmorning. Sometimes, we get the paper the next day. It’s rather like John Oliver’s “Last week tonight”. There’s nothing like reading headlines from several days ago. Is “old news” related to “fake news”? I wonder. I sent a terse note to the paper recently, and he seems to have been a bit better. He actually delivered earlier this week, and get this – overnight, we’d had almost an inch of snow. I was as shocked as you are reading this now. I went out for my usual futile search, and there it was – up the hill in the middle of the road. Well done, young man!
We get a local daily newspaper. Used to get two – the local and the big regional, urban paper. The urban paper got to be too expensive, so we’ve just stuck with the local. All in all it’s ok, though it does have a tendency to put “Dog Rescued From Sewer” (with full picture coverage) on the front page, with “US Invades New Brunswick” inside on page 2. It’s pretty much a “light read”, with primary articles on shoplifting at the mall, traffic accidents, and a nice mixture that includes acts of stupidity or noteworthy heroics by the local citizenry.
Our paper delivery guy, I presume, does his packaging with the precision that he uses in selecting a spot to leave the paper. Most times it’s just the one for which we have a subscription. Every so often, we’ve had an additional paper, or one to which we don’t subscribe. That’s a nice touch, but totally unnecessary. On a banner day, we had two copies of our own paper plus an additional paper which we don’t get. Perhaps that’s his way of saying, “Yeah, I’m sorry for leaving that in the bushes”, where he did this morning and has several times in the past when he tosses the paper from his car. On a number of occasions, when I’d left my car in front of the garage, I rather thought he was tossing the paper farther away in some perverted notion of frustration or revenge. Now, that doesn’t appear to be case, because whether the car is there or not, the resting place of the paper seems to be more whimsy than deliberation. It can be anywhere.
So, gone are the days when the local adolescent entrepreneur earned money by circulating the news. No more cheerful adolescent voice calling out, “collecting” once a week. It’s all billed to a credit card, or in our case comes from a billing agent. She uses the same system as the delivery guy. Most months, I get a bill. Sometimes, it’s two months because she seems to have forgotten us. No matter, I’ll send her a check and she’ll get paid at some point. Neither of us is particularly worried.
I will confess that I’m a dinosaur in the world of digital and electronic news transmission. I like a newspaper in my hands each day, even though the news is much to cheer us up. Rather like the BBC commentary during WWII – “Bringing you news of fresh disasters.” I don’t go online, although I do watch morning and evening news broadcasts. Every so often, as I’m going to my email, one of those new bits will attract my attention. An athlete arrested for assaulting a spectator, another White House insider arrested in the middle of the night. So, I’ll stop and read just enough to fill me in. I’ll read all the sizzling details in the paper in a day or so. Cable news is a bit too strident for me – too “in your face”, and with some of them, I frankly question their mental health. One in particular seems bent on following the lead of the White House, making it seem as if their trade mark is making it up as they go along. Were they jazz musicians, I’d say they’re very good at improvisation. That, however, is material for another day. In the meantime, I just want my daily newspaper, protected from the elements, arriving before I have my first cup of coffee, dropped in a location where I can find it in less than five minutes, and swaddled in plastic so it won’t be sopping wet when I bring it in. The rest – what and how many papers I get on any given day, will be a delightful surprise.
Must go now – I see that yesterday’s paper is on the front porch next to a package from Amazon. The FedEx driver must have left it there for me. Thank you, FedEx Person.
I'm Thinking...No! 