welcome to the 1950s

I had a flat tire yesterday. My dad noticed it as he was taking some stuff out to their car — he and Mom were getting ready to drive back to Houston after spending Thanksgiving with us. My spare was also flat, so Dad drove me and the tire to Firestone to get a new one. I spoke to the guy behind the counter, showed him the paperwork from when I bought the tire only 2 years ago, took him out to Dad’s car to retrieve the flat tire, and stood with him while he determined whether it could to be fixed or if I’d need a new one.

A few minutes later, he came back to give me the verdict… and he spoke directly to my father the entire time. My father, who up until now had been standing in the background.

It’s not like this guy was old enough to have remembered a time before the women’s movement either.