Listen to the podcast for the story behind the story.
I woke up with this from a dream about when we were kids. This is up there with the day we accepted that there was no Santa Claus and TV was fake.
Here’ s the strict definition:
“In order to enjoy movies or TV, the audience engages in a phenomenon known as “suspension of disbelief”. This is a semi-conscious decision in which you put aside your disbelief and accept the premise as being real for the duration of the story.”
So. In my house in the 50’s with twelve humans crowded into a single apartment, food, as you can imagine, was always scarce and there were strict rules with regard to extracting (if you dared) anything from the refrigerator.
Especially when my father was home, you had better be making a deposit instead of a withdrawal out of that thing. On Sundays, which was the only day he had off, we all tiptoed around lightly and either stayed out of the house or used sign language so he wouldn’t have to yell, “shut the hell up out there.”
We all knew full well to stay away from that white monster in the kitchen. Even as he perched himself in another room smoking L&Ms and watching sports, he could either hear the suction break on the fridge door or feel the cool air from it being open. He spent the day in his boxers, so his senses were acute. As soon as he became aware of this mid-day, unauthorized transgression, he would yell, “Hey, what the hell are you doing in there?” You had better have a good story.
One night, after we were washed and ready for bed, my brother John and me sat spotlessly on the couch and we heard “And now it’s time for Ozzie and Harriet” about the Nelson family whose story lines made Seinfeld episodes look alike an action adventures.