A long long time ago telephones could be found in these rectangular boxes. These strange and mysterious boxes were called booths here in the United States. They sat at street corners, next to buildings and obviously out in the middle of nowhere.
This is a typical example of the species. Glass or plexiglass sides. The word telephone in white letters on a red or blue background, maybe a sign with a bell imprinted on it. I've seen these in varying states of repair and/or disrepair as the case may be. So, while leaning this one is in pretty good shape. As the popularity of cell phones increased, the site of telephone booths decreased. Finding this one brought back memories for JR and I.
When I was a kid and all the way into the 90s phone booths dotted the landscape. It was a well known policy to always carry a dime in your pocket or if you weren't wearing something with pockets like a skirt or a dress you kept the dime in your shoe. Just in case you needed to call home. Then it went up to a quarter. There is no keeping a quarter in your shoe. It would just rub a blister. Blisters suck. As anyone who's ever had a blister can attest to.
Clark Kent would go into a phone booth, shut the hinged door, spin around and emerge as Superman. It was trilling in its day.
I was a little afraid of them. What if I shut the little hinged door and then it wouldn't open again? What if I had already used my dime then found out that the door wouldn't open? How could I call for help? Calling collect wasn't an option. My mother would have killed me. Making a collection call was only for real emergencies. Getting stuck in a phone booth wouldn't not have been emergency enough. Of course, none of these things ever happened.
Now that I think about it I was sort of a neurotic mess as a young child. I have a feeling that therapy is going to cost a bit more than a dime.