You know when you’re walking past one of those weird little alcove walls in old college dorms, filled with stairs or nothing at all, and you say to yourself, “What the hell is the point of that thing?” I used to. Then I saw that little lightbulb up above it, and the shelf beneath it, and it was all cluttered, with dust, and a phone, where a phone used to rest. That was no mere niche in the wall. It was history.
It was, basically, a dorm room phone booth. And back then, that thing was sacred.
The way we used to talk was very different than it is today, but even as recently as the ’60s, ’70s and early ’90s, the process of wanting to hear your mom’s voice or murmur sweet nothings to your crush even though he lived two states away involved walking down the hall, rooting around your pockets for change and hoping that no one else was using the other phone in the booth.
My uncle talks about waiting in line outside the booth at his freshman dorm, his quarters at the ready, practicing what he would say. “Tell them I’m good. Ask about Grandma. Don’t sound homesick.”