Here’s an item I don’t need anymore but am not sure how to find a new home for it. My dial Snoopy phone.

The story behind this phone should be amusing.  I was nineteen.  Living in a three-room cabin in Western Massachusetts with no indoor plumbing, no running water, electricity, and coal heat.  Since I was so far from civilization, I needed a phone in case of trouble.  So. Making minimum wage, I bought a phone.  I could have gotten a Touch Tone phone, but I didn’t want to pay the extra dollar or so a month line charge on my phone bill, so dial it was.  This was back in the day when you owned the outer part of the phone, but the phone company still owned the guts (it’s imprinted on the bottom of the phone — really).  Those days are all behind us now, but that’s an interesting bit a trivia.

So, even though I hauled a porta potty to work every Friday to dump in the bathroom after work, I had a fancy, schmantzy telephone.  I hauled fifty-pound bags of coal to heat the main room of the cabin (as I recall, it took about 300 pounds a week to heat the place). This was at the time of my life when I thought living in a remote cabin in the woods would be romantic.  I moved into this place in December.  Moved out in March.  Three months of roughing it was just too exciting for me and completely pegged my fun meter.  I’ve had zero desire to do that again.  I have, however, laughed about it, as I told myself I would at the time.

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