When I took a copy of today's Sunday New York Times off the rack and took it to the checkout counter, the clerk scanned the bar code three times, staring doubtfully at her screen each time. "It should be $5.00," I told her--the cost of the National Edition here in Chicago.
"Wow, that seems like a lot of money for just a newspaper," she commented. "Why is it so much?"
I was momentarily speechless. How to explain to this gum-chewing, twenty-something convenience-store clerk the value of the Sunday Times? It would require explaining a whole world of culture--history, literature, music, philosophy--and even though Chicago isn't exactly a hick town, I quickly realized we weren't going to bridge that gap in the next ten seconds.
"It lasts all week," I finally said. An insufficient explanation, to be sure--but perhaps enough to pique her curiosity and induce her to glance at the front page between customers--and opening her eyes to world she didn't know even existed.
Thank you, New York Times.
Disappearing glue sticks
15 years ago
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1 comment:
I just got mine delivered this morning, and the reassuring thud of paper against door makes me feel better about myself and the world. No matter how much it seems that things are going down the toilet, I can always look forward to Bill Cunningham's style photos and Maureen Dowd's pontifications in the Op-Ed. (Not to mention the Emily-Post-with-a-twist Social Q's column by Phillip Galanes. All this and more for just $5. Ahhh...life is good.
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