Instant Gratification Stole the Milkman

Instant Gratification Stole the Milkman

I’m all for a little progress. Heck, I wouldn’t be here ranting if it weren’t for some clever fella figuring out how to allow grumpy old men to rant over the internet.

But progress, in my book, doesn’t mean trading quality for the kind of fleeting convenience that leaves you feeling like a hamster running on a wheel.

Take milk, for instance. Back in my day, the milkman, a guy who knew your wife’s birthday and your kids’ names, delivered milk to your door in glass bottles. He left them on your doorstep and when the milk was gone you placed the empties back on the doorstep and returned them to the milkman. No forever landfill waste.

Each bottle cost a nickel deposit. A nickel! About as valuable as a politician’s promise these days. But hey, a kid with a wagon full of empties back in those days was rich! With enough empties, a kid could buy a lot of penny candy, candy bars, soda pop, and baseball cards.

And you could buy Coke in a glass bottle from an old-fashioned, mechanical vending machine for a nickel. And the empty bottle was worth two cents when you returned it to the corner store. I remember spending entire afternoons looking for empty glass soda pop bottles, collecting them, putting them in my red wagon, and getting 24 cents for a dozen of them at Morgan’s Corner Market.

Food in general? Don’t get me started. Real butchers owned butcher shops and cut meat fresh and made sausages so tasty, juicy, and thick they won medals at a county fair. They’d pop when you bit into them.

Butcher shops are long gone and now we live with pre-packaged mystery meat that comes with a built-in chemistry degree requirement just to understand the ingredients list.

What about the old neighborhood bakeries? Real neighborhood bakeries, the kind that filled your street with the sweet aroma of possibility, fresh bread that was more flour than air, fresh donuts and pies all replaced by the gas station convenience stores and supermarket donut dispensaries that sell pastries and donuts that look like they’ve been circling the Earth since Sputnik I and bread with “Air” as the main ingredient. Only in America.

Look, I’m not advocating for a return to the horse-and-carriage days. Nobody wants to spend all day churning butter or chasing chickens around for dinner. But there was a certain…grit, a sense of accomplishment every day back then.

With just one income, you could raise a family, and even take an annual vacation. Vacations weren’t all-inclusive plastic resorts that cost more than a small yacht. Many times they were a week at a cabin with a leaky roof and a deck of cards missing the queen of hearts. Back in those days, vacations meant spending quality time with the family., not running around on the Google Maps, what-to-see-next treadmill.

Progress is fine, but sometimes it feels like we’re trading a good homecooked dinner for a lukewarm McWhopper. We’ve become obsessed with speed, with getting things done yesterday, even if it means sacrificing quality for convenience.

The next time you’re tempted by that curbside delivery app, take a minute to remember the good old days. The days of clinking glass bottles, real food, and vacations that didn’t require you to take out a second mortgage. Maybe, just maybe, a little inconvenience is the secret ingredient to a life with some flavor.

Now, this convenience catastrophe isn’t just about groceries. It’s about experiences too. Remember the thrill of planning a vacation with the family and all those TripTiks, guidebooks, and maps spread across the living room floor? Now, with a few clicks, we book a trip halfway around the world, with little to no understanding of the culture or history of our destination. It’s a factory tourist experience, hopping from one pre-packaged “must-see” to the next, snapping a selfie at each location but never truly connecting with the place or its people.

And don’t even get me started on music! I can remember the days of carefully selecting a vinyl record, lowering the needle with care, and listening to a long-awaited brand new Beatles or Sones album over an over.

Now, we have playlists cobbled together by algorithms that think “Ticket to Ride” goes well with “Lose Yourself” by Eminem, because, well, they both have words, right? We’ve lost the joy of discovery for a pre-packaged listening experience that leaves me feeling as empty as a discarded AirPod.

Convenience doesn’t have to be the enemy of quality. We can find a happy medium, a balance between convenience and quality.

Maybe it’s learning to cook a simple, delicious meal from scratch once a week instead of relying on Uber Eats. Maybe it’s setting aside an afternoon to explore a local park or museum instead of binge-watching the latest Netflix series. Maybe it’s taking the time to plan a meaningful vacation with your family, one that involves getting lost in cobblestone streets and finding a hidden cafe, instead of following a pre-programmed itinerary of tourist traps.

Maybe it’s about reclaiming the simple pleasures, the ones that require a little effort, and a little patience. The satisfaction of creating something yourself, whether it’s a loaf of bread, a piece of art, or a memory. The joy of discovery, of finding a hidden gem in your own city or halfway across the world. The anticipation that builds as you wait for something, the wait that heightens the experience when the wait is finally over.

We’ve become a society of stuff collectors, our homes overflowing with mass-produced plastic throwaways that bring fleeting joy and gather dust in the corners or create forever junk in the landfills.

Let’s try to reclaim the art of living with less, but living better. Let’s invest in experiences, not just things. Let’s slow down, savor the moments, and appreciate the craftsmanship of things well-made. Let us savor the quality of the human touch that goes into something that wasn’t cranked out by a machine in a factory somewhere.

It’s not about going back to the Stone Age. It’s about remembering the value of a hard day’s work, the satisfaction of a job well done, whether it’s building a bookshelf, fixing a leaky faucet, writing and mailing a letter to a friend or family member — or just cooking a decent meal instead of having a fast-food potluck.

It’s about understanding that sometimes, the best things in life are not the most convenient, they take a little time, a little effort, and a lot of heart.

So, the next time you reach for that microwavable meal in a plastic tray, pause and ask yourself: is this convenience worth giving up the quality of a home-cooked meal – even if it’s just creamed chipped beef on toast?

If there is a way to enjoy an experience a little more, to savor the moment, to appreciate the quality of something, why not take it? By being mindful of our choices, we can start to break free from the unnatural convenience catastrophe and rediscover the simple pleasures that make life truly rich.

Some of you might be thinking, “This grumpy old curmudgeon just wants us all to go back to the dark ages!” You’re wrong, I tells ya! There’s a place for convenience in our lives. It frees us up to pursue our passions, to spend more time with loved ones, and to explore the world. But convenience shouldn’t become the heart and soul of our existence. It shouldn’t become our excuse for sacrificing quality for speed, experience for efficiency, real friendships for social-media chat friends, or quantity over quantity.

Let’s not join the generation of instant gratification addicts, forever chasing the next dopamine hit. Let’s remember the power of patience, the value of craftsmanship, and the joy of a world where good wasn’t just good enough, it was excellent.

A little inconvenience might just be the secret ingredient to a life that’s not just convenient, but truly fulfilling. Sometimes you have to trade convenience for quality. 

So, put down that remote, step away from the screen, and go out there and experience the world, all its imperfections and unexpected delights. Take a walk through the woods or spend an hour or two in on a park bench watching the world go by.

You might just surprise yourself with what you find.