Today’s youth would be completely ignorant of the meaning of a walkman, landline phone, or VHS cassette. Growing up in the era of rapid technological advancement, it has been amazing to witness how everyday household items that have been in use for years can suddenly become outdated.
I’ll admit that I had no idea what the object below was until I saw a photo of it. Beyond that, I had no idea what kind of metal tool it was. Can you identify and recollect this object?
See anything familiar? It’s a vintage oil can opener nozzle! This object appears archaic, yet it is actually rather modern, having been created in the 1980s. The spout portion of the can was used to pour oil back then, and people would use the tool to punch a hole in the top of the can. Despite having a really straightforward design, this thing is quite brilliant.
The 1980s seem like they were only yesterday to me. The 1980s seem like a lifetime ago—more than 40 years ago! Even though these openers aren’t used very often these days, I’ll wager that a lot of folks still keep one hidden in their garage among the equipment. Of course, many collect them, mechanics in particular! Therefore, it might not be a bad idea to pick up one of these cool little devices if you ever find one at an antique store or yard sale.
My Cousin Brags about Her ‘Achievements’ Despite Owing Me $5,000 – I Thought About Taking Action, but Karma Took Care of It for Me
When my cousin crashed our rental car, leaving me with a $5,000 bill, I spent months trying to get her to pay me back. Just as I gave up, I saw her flaunting her ‘success’ on social media and discovered I wasn’t the only one she owed. Karma caught up to her, and I got a front-row seat!
It’s been a year since that disastrous West Coast holiday, and I still feel the sting of that $5,000 debt. My cousin Debra, who’s supposed to be an accountant, racked up a huge damage charge on our rental car and then had the audacity to act like it wasn’t her problem.
It was under my name, so guess who got stuck with the bill? That’s right, me. Lisa, the ever-reliable project manager from Boston. I swear, some days I think my middle name should be “Doormat.”
I remember that holiday like it was yesterday. Seven of us cousins decided to get together for some “family bonding” out on the West Coast.
Debra was there, of course, with her charismatic charm and reckless attitude. One evening, she decided it would be a fantastic idea to drive the rental car down a narrow, winding coastal road at night.
The air was crisp, the moonlight casting eerie shadows as she sped along the road, ignoring my pleas to slow down.
“Come on, Lisa, live a little!” Debra laughed, her voice filled with reckless glee.
She cranked up the music and took another swig from her bottle. I clutched the seat, my knuckles white.
“Debra, please, you’re going too fast!” I yelled, my heart pounding.
She just laughed harder, taking a sharp turn way too quickly. My heart stopped as the car skidded toward the edge, tires screeching.
I thought we were all going to die that night, but the guardrail saved us. The impact when we slammed into it was jarring, leaving us all stunned and the car a complete wreck.
The holiday mood? Completely ruined.
When the rental company slapped a $5,000 damage charge on the car, Debra just shrugged.
“We’re family,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand. “We should all pitch in.”
The other cousins mumbled vague agreements.
“Maybe we can split it evenly,” suggested Jimmy, the peacemaker of the group.
“Split it? Are you kidding? I wasn’t even in the car,” retorted Martha, crossing her arms.
“I can’t afford that right now,” mumbled Jake, avoiding eye contact.
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