I loved Radio Shack. I’m going to miss it, even it’s current incarnation.
I don’t hear that too much, but I am glad to have survived the “general contractor gets a cell phone” era.
You know, that time when you couldn’t go into a fast-food place or the like without some (spotless) jeans-and-hardhat type having a top-of-the-lungs speakerphone conversation with his site boss. Because he was so damn cool and trendy and in-charge and all that and didn’t have to hold the phone up to his ear like some wuss.
There’s a special class of asshole who delights in playing hip hop music through their phone speaker, in an echo chamber train station, at late nights in train stations in Chicago. Of course, those are the nights when the train’s ETA keeps going backwards.